


A Burning Realm

by LuckyCookie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, First Time, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:16:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 169,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyCookie/pseuds/LuckyCookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragon Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen is betrothed to Lyanna Stark to secure the loyalty of the North in a marriage that seems catastrophic for both in the beginning, but as time passes, they might just discover they were born to be together. </p>
<p>As King Aerys' madness covers the realm, a plot is taking place being lead by his own heir to topple the Mad King and free the realm of it's suffering.</p>
<p>Life in court is everything but a fairytale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mad Man's Order

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! SO... This is my first fanfic in english and also the first i write about ASOIAF. 
> 
> As you can see, the first chapter is not too long, but i promise it won't be always like that. 
> 
> As for how long will it take me to update, currently i have plenty of free time so i'm going to update almost daily, i'm already working on chapter 2 so i'm sure it will be up here tomorrow :) 
> 
> If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them, also, if you notice any mistakes in my writing, you can tell me so i can fix it, as i already told you, this is actually my first fanfic in english, so yeah...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy this :)

 

His steps were firm through the hallways of the Red Keep, his mind trying to figure out what was the reason for his father to summon him to the throne room this time. It was never good, never.   
****

Giant wooden doors opened in front of him, inside he could see him sitting on that imposing throne, surrounded by four of his Kingsguards and Lord Varys at his side. His distraught expression seemed to show how lost somewhere inside his head he truly was, his light indigo eyes, reddened by the lack of sleep, went straight to him with wariness the moment he approached.

“Your Grace” he bowed down in front of him “You summoned me” he said softening his voice as much as possible. His father, the King, was easily upset lately.

“Yes, yes boy… There’s an urgent problem that must be taken care of” 

His father’s brows frowned in apparent irritation, showing a twisted grimace in his face. ‘An urgent problem’ he said, and as soon as he said it, Rhaegar listened carefully, he wasn’t sure there was an actual problem, but he was sure his father would start one the moment he gave his command to ‘solve’ it. Seeing shadows in every corner, burning every Lord or peasant that looked ‘suspicious’, king Aerys’ paranoia grew everyday, more and more dangerous. His infatuation with the wildfire was alarming and, sadly, he was a catastrophe ready to doom the realm at any moment. A paranoid man, who’s mind was twisted, with a fascination for the wildfire and all the power that crown upon his head gave him. King Aerys II Targaryen was the most dangerous problem in his eyes. 

“Those northerners…” he mumbled with deep contempt “Those treasonous Stark. They’re plotting, Rhaegar, they’re plotting against me, I can sense it.”

“Your Grace… What does make you think that?” he asked with neutrality not to upset him even more, trying to figure out whatever tangled mess his father invented in his head.

“They’re allying with the House Tully, House Baratheon and are already allied to Arryn. The spider told me about this alliances. I want them all burned, boy! March to the north with our men and bring them here to face my royal justice!”

He sent Varys a quick look, the mysterious whispering spider who was standing up next to his father. What was he thinking exactly? What scheme was that? He wondered if it was Varys’ idea or if his father’s delusional mind made it up, and by far the second choice seemed more likely, of course, with the help of the information the spider would give to him.

“Your Grace. Don’t you think taking such actions against the guarden of the north would be dangerous? The north is large and wild, and faithful to the Starks. If we do such a thing, they will raise against us and start a rebellion.” He tried to reason with him, using the softest voice he could produce, if anything triggered the king’s madness as it usually did, the whole situation could end up in a disaster, in war. 

“Perhaps the Prince is right, Your Grace” His eyes narrowed warily and went to the eunuch as he spoke next to his father “Having the north against us would lead to war. Perhaps there is another solution” 

His violet eyes stared at the eunuch with caution, wondering which rol was he actually developing, what he intended with his whispers and this new proposition. Rhaegar could only hope it would be a rational solution, and not something to feed Aerys' madness.

“Then spit it” The king said irritated, his long, bony fingers started to move nervously and his long nails were curved against the iron throne as if they were claws, holding tightly to its prey. 

“An alliance with the north would secure their loyalty and there would be no need of a war, Your Grace. My little birds tell me that Lord Rickard Stark has a daughter of six-and-ten, a girl in age of being betrothed.” The spider’s dark eyes went to Rhaegar’s for two seconds while the suggestive sentence came out of his mouth, and in half a second he saw where that was going. "However, we must do this quickly. My little birds also told me of Robert Baratheon's intentions to ask for the girl's hand"

The king slackened in the throne, his pale eyes went to his son, examining him in a second, a grimace formed in his face and for a moment, Rhaegar swore he was about to ask again for the Starks’ to burn. But Aerys remained quiet, one of his bony hands raised as if he was about to say something, and then…

“Get the little bitch to court then. You will marry the Stark whore, boy. Send men to bring her here.” his voice sounded calmer than before, the king’s mood swings was no strange thing to Rhaegar and at that moment it showed.

Even if the proposition, was far less harmful than the first one, something was not right.

“Your Grace” he called under the expecting gazes of his father and the spider “I think it would be better if I go and bring her to the Capital, so we can assure there are no tricks” he lied.

Truth was, it seemed like the right thing to do to meet Lord Stark, and also the smartest. Explain the _entire_ situation as well as the plans he had, and then give him a good reason to send his only daughter to court instead of disrespecting him with a bunch of Targaryen men taking his daughter away by a royal command as if she was a broodmare or a prisoner to be judged. _This could actually be of great help._ His breath was in a hold, if that failed, his father would only angry the northerners and he wanted them to join his cause before they started a rebellion.

A few seconds passed, not a single word said, he shared a quick look with Varys and he knew he agreed with the idea, but still, he would have to wait for his father's answer. After twenty one years by his side, he had an idea of how to handle him, counting on his paranoia to play an important part on the matter. He placed the idea carefully in front of the king, and despite his unpredictable temper, a part of him was sure he would agree under his paranoid instincts.

“Yes, yes boy. Go to the north and drag the bitch here. You’ll leave in the morrow. Now get out of my sight” a twisted smile appeared on Aerys’ face, his eyes flashing up to Rhaegar’s, a dark message in them, as if he was enjoying the idea of actually dragging an innocent girl to that madness. One more puppet to torture in his Red Keep and Rhaegar could feel wariness building up within him. If he was bringing that girl to court, he would have to teach her how to stay away from the king's sight and not to call his attention. 

“I will set the preparations then, Your Grace” he bowed to Aerys’ and left, his steps were fast, being followed by another steps as a shadow of his.

“I hope this goes well, Arthur” he said once they were a safe distance away from the throne room.

At the beginning, he thought of it as a rising problem, but his mind was turning the whole thing around in his favor and saw, in fact, a chance, a very good chance to discuss the situation with the Warden of the North, to gain his support for when the time was right. He already had the support of most great houses, but the north was so apart from everything and they were crucial to the realm. 

“I’m sure you will have the northerners in your pocket after your visit, my friend” Arhur Dayne's voice sounded low and wary, for anyone else besides him to hear.

He was sure house Stark would give him support, as well as the other houses they were allied to, but there was one he wasn't sure would be too happy with this. House Baratheon. He remembered his cousin as the living image of his house's motto, 'Ours is the fury'. Pure muscle, ireful blue eyes and hot tempered, a man who enjoyed drinking and whoring beyond anyone he has ever seen. And yet, he liked the Stark girl enough to ask for her hand. If he was to take the girl of his interest, he could already see the problem there.  _It had to be you, Robert._ Perhaps, if Stannis was the one, there wouldn't be such an issue, but it was a lost cause since Robert was the eldest. 

"Probably. But I can already see friction with Robert Baratheon" he let out in a distracted way.

 


	2. The Daughter of Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! As you can see, i just uploaded, i couldn't do it earlier because i had to do a job on photoshop for uni and it took me almost 5 hours, so yeah, it was impossible to end the chapter. But here it is now! :) enjoy!

Her eyes were narrowed towards her target, that small red dot that seemed pretty far away from her and was tempting her, her elbow flexed in a small angle while tensing the bowstring with the slim arrow between her fingers. In a heartbeat, she shot the arrow and it went straight to the little red dot that tempted her so badly. She smirked while making a little reverence in a lady like manner, out of mock more than anything.

"Please... It was pure luck" she heard Brandon behind her, chugging irritated when he saw her arrow sink in the middle of that red dot.

"You seem to be so unlucky then, huh..." the smirk still imprinted on her fair face, because if there was something Brandon couldn't beat her at, was at archery, even if he didn't want to admit the defeat against his little sister.

The tall man frowned his brows at her, he didn't know when, but she got good at archery. Yet he couldn't figure out how did she do it. It wasn't like their father was too thrilled by the fact that his only daughter would rather learn how to fight with swords, how to shoot arrows and ride horses than to stitch or behave like a lady. But that was just Lyanna, and sometimes, he swore she would prefer to be a man if she ever got to chose. 

"Don't get cocky. Let's have a sword fight and we'll see how that goes" he said with a grin that made her wrinkle her nose in discomfort, knowing that even if she was good at archery, she would never defeat him in a swordplay.

She dropped the bow in a corner and arched a brow in annoyance. It was true after all, her abilities with the sword were clumsy and it wasn't because she was bad at it, it was jus that... Her father would never allow her to practice and much less to be around carrying a sword, even if she died for it. She would never understand it, why was it so wrong for a woman to learn how to fight? Maybe that was why so many women were raped helplessly, murdered helplessly, because the world was ruled by cocks and they wouldn't let them learn how to defend themselves. How convenient for them.

"What if we practice a little right now?" she suggested with a challenging smile on her full lips, aching for a 'YES'.

"How about no?" he answered quickly to tease her, her brows frowned instantly and an indignant bunch of air came out of her mouth. "Come on! Why not?" she furiously asked.

He looked at his little sister for a few seconds, her hazel eyes were flashing expectantly with hope and her expression was full of indignation. Even if Lyanna didn't have the whims of a lady, like demanding new dresses all the time, or whatever the ladies' whims were, she had her own. And learning how to use the sword was one of them, and one their father wouldn't grant. But yet, he did teach her the basics when their father wasn't looking and sure Benjen practiced with her sometimes.

"Maybe... But not now, later. I'm starving" he groaned then, and she rolled her eyes at him "You want to go back already? That septa will kill me with her bloody sewing needles and colorful threads" her voice was in a higher pitch than before while he looked at her amused by the thought of the elder woman trying to teach his wild sister how to do such a delicate thing like the needlework. That was sure a sight to behold.

"That poor septa of yours, it must be exhausting to try to teach a beast how to behave" he said in amusement, gaining a piercing glare from his sister, straight into his skull.

She let out a sigh. As soon as she set a foot into the castle, that woman would be there waiting for her with her threads, and her singing lessons and her tongue shushing her whenever she said something 'inapropiate', because according to her, apparently, ladies didn't have a sense of humor and neither had the right to speak other than about dresses and handsome knights. The thought was already displeasing her.

"When is your betrothed coming anyway?" she asked trying to sweep the old woman off of her mind and focusing on her brother's betrothal. 

"Within a fortnight, I believe." he started walking back to the castle with a heavy pace, his foot sinking into the thick layer of white shimmering snow that covered Winterfell. "Oh? And what after that? The wedding already?" she asked behind him, following his steps in the snow.

"Aye. And after that, father will probably accept Robert Baratheon's petition and you will be betrothed as well"

"Ohh... The joy" she said in a dispassionate way that only made him chuckle. In exchange, it made her grimace. Ever since she heard from Ned's letter that Robert Baratheon was interested in her, her stomach felt heavy, her hands would go sweaty when the matter was discussed and she definitely didn't like the way it made her feel. The only time she saw the Lord of the Stormlands was during Ned's visit to Winterfell. After he got fostered by Jon Arryn, he brought that beefy loud man to Winterfell, with his dark hair and his blue eyes that always seemed to scrutinize her with intensity and made her feel uncomfortable everytime they landed on her. 

She looked around, the beautiful landscape before her was sprinkled by the most white and soft looking snow, it was so beautiful, it was her home. And she certainly didn't feel good with the idea of leaving it behind to be the Lady of the Stormlands. Sometimes, she would lay in bed and contemplate her future, even if she tried not to think about it so much, she couldn't help but to see herself in a strange land, away from her brothers, her father... But yet, her own father seemed to be satisfied with that.

As the freeing wind became stronger, they got inside through the big wooden doors, the smell of roasted venison impregnated in the place was enough to lead them to the dine room, where a big table rested in the center of it and Lord Rickard Stark was already seated at the end of the table with Benjen by his side, his grey stormy eyes went straight to Lyanna and Brandon as he saw them entering. "I was about to send someone to look for you two" he said with a hand inviting them to seat.

"We shall receive guests soon"  they heard him aver with his steely strong voice and calmed eyes "Aye, Brandon told me about his betrothed visiting Winterfell" Lyanna dropped carelessly, cutting the venison in her plate slowly and separating the peas as if they were filth near her food.

"I'm not talking about Lady Catelyn and Lord Hoster Tully." three pairs of very similar questioning eyes in the shade of stormy grey and hazel glared over at him "We're receiving the Crown Prince in Winterfell in a few days" 

Small gasps were made and several questions floated in the air, yet not one of them was asked, at least until Brandon broke the silence. "Why is prince Rhaegar coming to the North?" 

"I'm not sure" he spoke, looking at their sons and daughter "But I received a raven a few days ago. It was from King's Landing, announcing the visit" 

"That's odd" Brandon added, looking at his father mindfully. "Aye, it is. Benjen, Lyanna, there's no need to ask you to behave during the royal visit, is there?" the older man stared at his two younger offspring, probably counting in his head all the times those two made his temper explode with their occurrences and constant disobedience.

"Any news from Ned, father?" Brandon asked, ignoring the comment while his two siblings ate in silence, sharing complicity looks at his father's last comment with amused grins.

"In the last letter he sent me, he only said he would be visiting Winterfell in two moons along with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn. And also emphasized again in Robert Baratheon's interest in Lyanna" his father's strong voice rumbled between those four stone walls, and for a moment, she thought time stopped. 

She dropped her fork in that instant, her hazel gaze went straight to her father's, expecting him to continue the sentence with any trace of what he would do with her, yet several seconds passed by and nothing more was said.

"Are you going to accept that?" she asked with anxiousness in her voice, breaking the glassy silence that formed around them.

Lord Rickard stiffened a little, the expectancy in the air took him by surprise and once again, those three pair of eyes so similar to his were scrutinizing him silently. 

"Probably" he said in a calm manner, and Lyanna froze in her seat, her mouth partially open and her eyes wide as eggs.

"That's not fair!" her voice came out louder than she expected, and suddenly the room was too quiet again. "I'm not a horse you can sell!" 

Her father's eyes narrowed at her and his thick brows frowned deeply. "It is your duty to your House. Any other highborn lady would gladly accept the petition of the Stormland's Lord" his voice was steel, hard and unbending.

"Then they can have him! I don't want him!" she shouted and the tension filled the air with its heaviness.

She could feel her heart racing, she never spoke that way to her father, but the single thought of being sold like a common broodmare or a goat made her wolf-blood boil. He said he would  _probably_ accept the petition but didn't even ask for her opinion, and she didn't even knew the man. One night, one damned dinner and the man was already asking her hand, and even Ned's opinions about the Storm Lord were taken in account while hers... She could probably use her opinion to wipe the floors at Storm's End. 

Lyanna felt like she could strangle both her father and Ned in that moment, Ned for suggesting the idea and her father for accepting it as if she was a fucking mare to be sold. But what surprised her and infuriated her even more was Robert Baratheon's infatuation with her, he barely even spoke to her that one time, but there he was, trying to own her in the most intimate way one could own another person and claiming to be enamored by the Warden of the North's daughter, or at least that was what Ned said in his letters. It was just ridiculous. 

"You're speaking like I'm going to betroth you to a peasant." 

A peasant? She would gladly marry a peasant if she was in love with him, she wouldn't care. But he would never understand that, he would never give her the chance to choose her own life. Even if he was trying to give her the best, she knew that marriage just wasn't the best for her, not with the Lord of the Stormland's or with any other powerful Lord that could appear to ask for her hand. She didn't want any of that.

"Please, father..." she almost begged, and Lord Rickard let out a deep sigh and stared at her with comprehensive eyes. "You know you will have to do it eventually, Lyanna. And i highly doubt there's a better Lord out there for you" 

Yes, the mighty Robert Baratheon, a wealthy Lord, handsome man, skilled in battle... And in drinking and whoring. But that didn't seem to matter to anyone. Once she heard her father's words, she knew it was going to be a lost fight, her heart sinking in the inevitable dark heaviness taking over her, she felt like they just caged her and she felt suffocated.

She got up to her feet and abandoned the hall in front of them, without saying a word. She started climbing the steps to her room, her fists clenched tightly, her blood boiling in her veins so hot it burned, a knot started to form in her throat but she refused to let the small teardrops leave her eyes. She wasn't sad, she was raged. 

If only she was born with a cock dangling between her legs, she would probably have a say at the course her life was taking. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


	3. The Cold North

 

The cold wind of the north was a thing to behold, it could froze a man's blood with just a blow, that, Rhaegar learned while riding his black destrier through those snowy lands that had impacted him so much with its magnificence. Every inch of the landscape was covered with that thick layer of white, pure snow contrasting with the orange sky above them, the sun was setting and he could feel his dragon blood getting colder under his skin, along with that black armor with the Targaryen sigil in rubies. It felt so foreign, amazingly foreign.

"Seems like we're arriving, My Prince" Arthur Dayne pointed out with a glimpse of excitement in his eyes. Just as Rhaegar, the Sword of The Morning had never been in northern lands before.

Winterfell rose up in its glory before them like a giant, strong and imposing, the stone castle seemed like a vision in a dessert made of ice and the first thing he noted was that the complex was even larger than the Red Keep itself, with those stone walls and the towers erecting powerfully from within. It was certainly a marvelous sight. 

He wondered then, what kind of man would Lord Stark be. It was said that he was an honorable man, with a straight sense of justice above all, and then he wondered... Would such an honorable man like Lord Rickard Stark join him in deposing his father from his throne? Would his sense of honor tie him to remain loyal to the king? Or would his sense of justice be stronger and realize that it was all for the sake of the realm? His hopes were high, that was for sure.

As they got closer, Stark bannermen were receiving them at the gates of the castle, standing straight and strong just like the towers of Winterfell. As the Targaryen banners got in, people within the courtyard bowed to him in respect while he dismounted his black stallion. "Rise" he said gracefully, and with narrowed eyes he easily figured out who the Warden of the North was. With wide shoulders, dark hair and dark beard, and a pair of freezing grey eyes, Lord Rickard Stark was exactly as described.

He approached then, being followed by Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Owell Whent as if they were his shadows.

"My Prince" Lord Stark spoke with a steely strong voice and matching eyes, and he thought in that moment that if there was anyone to be the exact image of the men of the north, that was Lord Rickard Stark, with his strong presence and rough look. He could hear the words in his head with just a look at the man, 'Winter is Coming'. "It's an honor to have you in Winterfell"

"The honor is mine, Lord Stark" he responded with coolness. His dark indigo eyes passed from Lord Stark to the man next to him, those grey stormy eyes and the strong features revealed his kinship to the Warden of The North. "This is my eldest son, Brandon" he pointed out and then "This is Benjen, my youngest son, and Lyanna, my only daughter"

His eyes quickly studied the younger boy, Benjen, so similar to his eldest brother that it was like seeing two faces of the same coin in a brief moment, the same eyes, the same long face. And then, there was Lyanna Stark. A beautiful creature of the north, one of the most beautiful girls he ever saw, he had to admit in that brief moment, with her pale porcelain skin, fair features, those brown locks falling to her chest in a wavy cascade and a pair of stunning greyish hazel eyes that studied him mindfully, framed by thick, dark lashes. He sure could understand his cousin's infatuation with the lady in that moment, the Stark girl was, indeed, as beautiful as the landscapes of the north.  _And she is to be your bride._

"Shall we go inside?" Lord Stark invited, and he followed.

The Great Keep was just as the rest of the castle, stone walls, candlesticks lightning every corner of the place with the golden glow of fire, giving the complex a more warm atmosphere. His chambers were pretty much the same, big windows in the stone walls showing the white lands of the north, a big bed in the middle of the residence covered in warm-looking furs, two bedside tables and some other forniture, it all seemed cozy and warm, just perfect to resist the cold weather of the wild north.

"I'm sure you're curious about this visit" he said while staring out the window.

He felt the eyes of the Warden of the North in him for a brief moment before he turned around.

"Indeed, I am, Prince Rhaegar. But I'm sure you must be tired from the long journey you made" the man responded in courtesy.

"I am. But this is an important matter, Lord Stark. I think we should discuss the reasons of my visit now, if you have the time"

He saw the man's face turn to stone, an understandable reaction considering who his father was, the Mad King everyone called him, and when a Mad King sends a party to your lands, it is a reason to be concerned.

"Then, please, let us go to my den" the older man suggested.

Closing the wooden doors behind them, Lord Rickard invited him to seat across a big wooden desk, several rolls of paper lying there, near a seal with the direwolf's sigil in it. The man seated in front of him, with expectant eyes and his hands on the desk, the expectancy suddenly filled the air between them. 

"I came here because of a royal command, Lord Stark" he started with his calmed iron voice "King Aerys has decided to betroth me with your daughter, Lady Lyanna" he stopped then to see the reaction of the man in front of him.

He looked shocked, but composed himself after a few seconds, confusion in his expression was an obvious thing, but who could blame him. A man he barely knew just arrived at his home, his lands, to tell him he was going to take his daughter away because of 'royal commands' dictated by a mad man.

Rhaegar felt his body stiff in eagerness, but the blank expression of the man said absolutely nothing to him.

"I'm honored by the decision, Prince Rhaegar." the man broke the silence, the same blank expression remained "But... May I ask what lead your father, the king, to make such a decision?" 

Lord Rickard Stark seemed to be in shock still, his question was an obvious attempt to make the pieces of the puzzle fit.  _Smart man_ he thought. 

"Lord Stark... I'm not gonna lie to you" he started. 

He felt his pulse elevating slightly, ready to tell the man in front of him the truth, aware that his words could be considered treasonous if anyone else heard them, and the Gods knew his father wouldn't bat an eye to order his own son's execution.

"The King is paranoid. He thinks the north is plotting against him, along with Riverrun, the Vale and the Stormlands" Lord Stark's brows frowned as he repositioned on his seat, Rhaegar continued after giving him several seconds to process the information "That's why he decided to betroth me with your daughter, to assure your loyalty. However..."

The calmed air was long forgotten, now it was charged with tension and Rhaegar could feel it building up inside him with the heavy stare of the older man in him.

"I believe my father is no longer apt for the iron throne. You know what they call him, Lord Stark. And each day it's worst. I'm deeply concerned for the realm"  _Treason._  

Lord Rickard froze in his seat, the words the Crown Prince was reciting were dangerous words if listened by the wrong person, he had a clue were the conversation was going and a chill climbed up his spine.  _Treason_ was the word crossing his mind.  _Treason, and death_.

"What will you do?" he asked in a serious tone, staring expectantly at the young man in front of him, and Rhaegar had never felt so pressured before in his entire life. 

The next sentence, felt like the weight of an entire realm upon his shoulders.

"I will depose him" 

The sentence was short, straight to the point and sharp as a knife. Clearer than the day too.

"And you're telling me this, because you want to know if I will be with or against you" stormy eyes fixed on him.

Lord Stark probably felt his mind going fast. The realm suffered under the reign of King Aerys, he was aware of it, he probably heard the stories over and over that traveled south to north, the cruelty of the man was legendary along with the suffering of those who died burning alive while the King smiled watching them. But then... He also heard about the Dragon Prince, the hope of the realm, noble, honorable and kind, the realm acclaimed him and longed to see him seating in the iron throne. And there he was, in front of him with expectant eyes, asking for his support to end the madness and the cruelty of his father. Maybe the rumors were true. 

He took a deep breath, he never felt the weight of his position as Lord of Winterfell so heavy on his shoulders before, but it just felt right. He was sure what the right thing to do was, and he would do it.

"I will. I will support your cause"

Rhaegar felt a rush in his chest, one more great House that joined him and he was one step closer to the throne, one step closer to end the latent threat that his father was, to end his reign of terror. Those pale violet eyes so alike to his came to his mind, the hatred in them, the pleasure in his father's face whenever he saw the skin melting and burning down in a corpse, the marks in his mother's arms and face, the suffering in her eyes... There was nothing left of the man he knew while still being a kid. There was only the Mad King now.

"About my daughter..." he heard the steely voice and with the sentence, a pair of dazzling greyish hazel eyes appeared in his mind, reminding him that he had a new responsibility.

"About your daughter... I will take care of her, Lord Stark. I assure you she will be safe and nothing will be denied to her" indigo eyes in the stormy ones, the words being pronounced with strong and deep conviction "I promise"

And Rhaegar could see a spark of relief in the man's gaze at the mention of the promise, a promise he would keep at all costs for the gratitude he felt towards the Warden of the North and also, because of the vows he would recite to the lady when the time came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. When Ice Meets Fire

The sound of the blades clashing against each other attracted her like honey would attract a bee, Brandon was probably practicing and he didn't even told her,  _That idiot_ she thought with 'fraternal' contempt towards her eldest brother, he knew perfectly well how she longed to practice with swords.

Her steps were fast towards the courtyard, her frown deep down, ready to demand a combat against _stupid_ Brandon. But the sight was not the one she expected, at all. In the middle of the courtyard, two familiar men, two she just met in the morning, a knight in golden armor and a white cloak, Arthurt Dayne, fighting against the tall silver prince. There was something about the way they were swinging their swords, the grace of each movement, the speed, and she understood the reason they were said to be the finest knights of the seven kingdoms. In that instant she became another spectator of the battle, admiring the knights' skills in battle.

What surprised her the most, was probably the fact that the silver haired prince was actually a skilled warrior, judging by the movements of his sword, dexterity in every swing and hits that were good enough to be trouble for the legendary Sword of the Morning. Who would've thought a Crown Prince could fight like that. Specially such a pretty one. 

"Seems like we have spectators, prince Rhaegar" the man in the white cloak said while holding his sword strongly against a blow of the Targaryen prince, but with his gaze fixed on her while resisting the hit.

The Dragon Prince dropped his arm and sword aside and turned to her, and so did Ser Arthur Dayne. 

"My Lady" she heard that velvety voice, dark deep indigo eyes focusing on her and silvery blonde locks falling from a bunch tucked on the back of his head, to the sides of his handsome face. The silver prince was sure a _very_ good looking man.

"My Prince, Ser Arthur" she returned the greeting, staring at them both "Please, don't stop because of me. It was quiet a good fight" she said, trying to sound the most lady like she could when both of them stood there, still sending gazing at her.

"Do you enjoy sword fights, my lady?" the Targaryen prince asked and took a few steps towards her, pushing back the silver locks of hair on his face with one hand. She noticed the way he lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile, and could do nothing but to enjoy that handsome face of his. 

"I do. Even if I'd rather fight in one than watching... I was enjoying your match" she admitted and amusement could easily be read in the sharp features of Rhaegar after she spoke.

"You fight, my lady?" he said with disbelief, turning his head and throwing a quick glance at Ser Arthur Dayne, who was behind him with the same amused expression as the Crown Prince.

Anyone who looked at her, would see a highborn lady, with those delicate hands and thin body anyone would ever believe she would be able to hold a sword and fight with it. But, the Lady Stark was no ordinary girl. 

"Call me Lyanna" those words came out of her mouth more out of habit than anything else, and she almost bit her tongue, wondering if that sounded nearly as inappropriate as it sounded in her head, at least for a talk with a Crown Prince. Looking at the prince's amused face, her worries faded away in less than two seconds, the man didn't seem too shocked by her formality. "I do. Poorly, but I do" 

He took a few steps closer, she noticed how tall he was, his valyrian steel sword in one hand and his other hand placed on his hips "Very good then, you can call me Rhaegar. Perhaps we can practice one day so I can help you with that, Lyanna" he offered kindly, using her name as she requested, the smile still on his mouth and she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She certainly wasn't expecting such an offering, even less so from a man with his titles. She wondered how ridiculous she looked in that moment, shrouded in one of those way-too-tight dresses with laces and velvet, claiming to know how to use a sword. What a jest she was. 

"Perhaps if the Crown Prince is the one practicing with me, my father won't oppose to such a thing" she chuckled softly, imagining the face her father would put if he saw her fighting against prince Rhaegar, sure he would not say a word against it.

Lady Lyanna seemed like a lovely girl with strange preferences for a lady, the way she would speak freely, without the fake pretenses of the ladies in court, that was sure a different thing, a  _good_ thing. Rhaegar suddenly found himself wondering about that young girl who was now his betrothed, and after that quick reminder, he wondered if she already knew, but judging by her behavior, Lord Stark did not tell her anything yet.  _Should I tell her now?_

"Your father..." he started "He doesn't approve it?".

Truth was, he never met a woman with interest in the arts of combat, his question sounded stupid in his head if he repeated it, after all, what Lord would allow his daughter to play with swords and learn how to fight. It just wasn't 'appropriate' for a lady. 

"He doesn't. But I still practice sometimes" she smiled and her eyes were those of a mischievous child "Just don't tell him" she said putting a finger against her full pink lips.

"Your secret is safe with me, Lyanna" he smiled back at her "Arthur" he turned to the man "You might leave my friend" 

It seemed like a good idea to get to know Lyanna Stark, after all, their fates were tied from that day on, and he wanted to know the real her before she found out about the betrothal. Ladies in court usually were so easy to read, the same overly practiced courtesy, the same fake delicacy, it all appeared to be the same. Now that girl in front of him, she seemed... Different. A strange thing.

Ser Arthur Dayne understood perfectly, stared at the silver prince with complicity eyes for a few seconds and nodded, with a grin in his pale face, he bowed down, put his sword back in his belt and left. Rhaegar stepped towards a bench and put his sword aside, his eyes went to the dark haired girl in front of him, staring at him with curiosity, he felt a drop of sweat slipping down his forehead, the training with Arthur heated up even the low temperature of the cold north. 

"Would you like to train with me sometime?" he asked as he sat down, her eyes were suddenly wide as eggs.

She laughed nervously, what kind of game was the Dragon Prince playing? Was he trying to make fun of her? But his face looked so relaxed and his amethyst eyes were so mysterious that it was impossible for her to relate him to the kind of stupid jests her older brother always made. Was he serious?

"I highly doubt my father will allow me to go to King's Landing to train, _Rhaegar_ " she said with a soft chuckle, 'Rhaegar' sounded so informal. 

 

When her eyes met his again, this time, there was no amusement in those beautiful orbs, seriousness took over him and she wondered if she said something to upset him. His previously relaxed features were now static.

"I... I suppose your father didn't tell you yet" 

Her eyes flashed up to him immediately, her mouth parted, trying to make the right question but she didn't seem to find it. Her father?

He let out a sigh. It would be better if he was the one to tell her, after all, it couldn't be bad, and _he_ was the one who 'asked' for her hand. He never had a bad experience with ladies before, why should it be different that time?  _Maybe because you're going to marry her?_

"I came to Winterfell to ask for your hand, my lady" the formality seemed more appropriate for it, ironically.  

She jerked, and her lower lip dropped, forming a silent 'O' with her mouth, evident confusion in her hazel gaze but also something more, something he couldn't figure out. 

"Excuse me?" and there it was. It sounded more like a threat than a simple question, and her reaction was not exactly the one he expected.

She looked like she was... Upset? 

"My father, the king, insists in our union. He believes an alliance between our Houses will be a blessing" he lied, remembering the real reason behind it all, the paranoia of his father, his wishes to burn the Lord of Winterfell until he and that Spider came out with a better solution.  _This._  

She looked like she was about to explode, her eyes were throwing daggers at him and her breath became heavy in her nostrils. That was definitely not the reaction he expected.  _She is certainly no southron lady_

And then he remembered. Could it be that she was upset because of her now impossible betrothal to Robert Baratheon? 

"My lady... I'm sorry your betrothal to Robert Baratheon is no longer an option, but this are royal commands and I-"

"I'm not upset because of that! I didn't want to marry that... That drunken, whoring idiot anyway!" she snapped and her voice was about to break, he could tell. "I'm upset because once again I've been sold like a broodmare! Damn it!" she cursed with authentic rage in her once sweet voice.

An eyebrow lifted unwittingly on his face, she was upset,  _very_ upset. Despite the unkind stare she gave him, it made him curious. Lady Lyanna was certainly an odd girl, and it wasn't out of smugness, but he was absolutely sure any other lady would be delighted by the idea of marrying a rich crown prince and become queen one day. Once again, Lyanna Stark proved not to be an ordinary woman.

"My lady... I would never see you as a-" 

"Oh! Just... Uuuugh!" she waved her hands at him in annoyance, got up to her feet all of a sudden, and with an angry face barked "And since you and I are to be married, just call me Lyanna and cut the whole 'lady' crap" 

His full lips parted, half in amusement and half in surprise, and that only seemed to anger her even more. In that moment, he couldn't remember any other time somebody spoke to him that way. He was rather intrigued more than offended by her reaction. For a second, he thought Lyanna would raise a hand and slap him, the anger in that woman was a thing he never saw before in any other lady, but instead... She snorted with ire and grabbed the silks of her dress with one hand, walking away from him. Her long wavy hair bouncing at her hurried pace, while all kind of curses slipped out of her mouth -curses a highborn lady would never say-, not before giving him an indignant dirty look with those magnificent hazel gems she had. 

He laid back on the bench, an amused smirk on his handsome face while watching her slender figure fading away, moving like a rabid dog who would bite anyone who crossed in her way. For some reason, Lyanna Stark's reaction was gold to him. What a strange lady with strange behavior.  _This is going to be a pain in the ass_ he thought, remembering the fire in the eyes of that girl. Apparently, the girl despised him... And he couldn't help but to laugh softly at the whole situation unfolding in front of him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heelloo! So here it is... Finally Rhaegar and Lyanna met.  
> I had a lot of fun writing the end of this chapter and you can see why hahahaha


	5. Farewell, Winterfell

Her clothes were carefully folded in the vault, her handmaidens made sure of that, all of her belongings were already packed in vaults to be taken to King's Landing with her. It felt so odd, so surreal, so _suffocating,_ but it was happening. A deep sigh passed between her pink lips, a quick glance and her room looked so... Empty. She wondered what was the point in packing her northern dresses anyway, she wouldn't be able to wear them in the hot,  _hot_ South. So different from her cold, icy Winterfell.

Once the anger passed, sadness took its place in her chest, more than once the idea of running away misted inside her mind, to run away before the sun rises and disappear among the snow of the north, where nobody could find her, not the Targaryen bannermen, not the Prince, not Baratheon, not even her own family. How sad was that? Running away from her own family. An idea that was imprinted on her mind even before Rhaegar Targaryen appeared, an idea that was set since she heard of Robert. But it was useless. She knew it.

She remembered her father's words with bitterness.  _"You despised the idea of marrying Robert. Now you have another betrothed, Lyanna, no maiden in the Seven Kingdoms could even dream of it, he's a Prince"_ Yes, marrying Robert was off the table, instead of going to Storm's End, now she was going to have a fancier cage and a prettier captor in King's Landing.  _What a dream_ she thought with annoyance, imagining her life in court, a place she never set a foot in, and her stomach stirred, she would be far away form everything she knew, her home, her family, surrounded by strangers. 

"Are you done packing?" she saw Brandon standing at the door frame, his steely eyes studying the room carefully, as if he could also notice how empty the place was looking even before she left. 

"I think so" she answered, running her hands upon the sheets of her bed, her voice low and almost weak. She was defeated. 

He walked in towards her, his strong arms surrounding her thin figure protectively. "I don't want to go" she muttered with her head buried on her brother's chest, when would she even see him again? When would she come back to Winterfell? And when she did... Would she still be the same? 

She wondered if she would be despoiled of her spirit as she would of her northern clothes in the south.  _I won't break, I won't break, I won't let them break me._

"I know, Lya... But sometimes, we just... Have no other choice." she shook her head softly but pulled apart, she didn't want to cry, not yet.

Down in the courtyard, the place was full of people, horses, carriages, and as the servants carried her luggage and her whole world was moving around her in a messed hurry, she tried to memorize every tree, every stone on the walls and every single detail of her beloved Winterfell. She didn't leave yet, but all she wanted to do was to come back already. A warm hand on her shoulder got her out of her musings, and when she turned, those hard stormy eyes were on her, and she saw something she would only see in them when the name "Lyarra" was brought. 

"I'm gonna miss you" and as soon as she heard it, she had her younger brother tied to her in a tight embrace that left her with no air in her lungs.

"Easy... Ben" she squealed in a tiny voice, and they started to laugh. How was she supposed to let go of that?

"Try not to knock the Red Keep down, beast..." Brandon spoke and pinched her cheek with his fingers, leaving a little red mark on her pale face. 

But her father... He was still standing there, looking at her with eyes so sad her heart sank deep down in her chest, it was still too surreal, but it was starting to get _very_ real.

"Lyanna..." his voice had a soft tone she would rarely hear "You'll be queen one day, my beloved daughter. But please, take care of yourself" 

She tried, she really tried to content the tears, but as soon as he spoke, those insistent, annoying hot drops were already soaking her skin, and suddenly she felt the need to burry her face in her father's chest like she used to do when she was just a little girl with scrapped knees and elbows. She jerked and both her arms were around her father, her face in the fabric of his clothes, and she felt him tightening the embrace with a hand holding her head closer to him.

"I will take care of her, Lord Stark." 

She knew that pleasant voice, she didn't need to turn around to see his valyrian features, mesmerizing purple eyes and foreign ivory skin. Her _captor._  Her father released her from his embrace then, and she felt so... Unprotected. She was being given away to the dragon, after all.

"Your highness... Thank you" Lord Stark's voice was steel again, as he took the hand of the man who was taking her daughter away in a tight shake of hands. 

And as she gave them one last hug, hugs she never wanted to let go of because once she did, she'd be gone, she felt a part of her soul tied to that place, her home, something was being left behind in Winterfell and she desperately needed to stay there to be whole again. She looked up to Rhaegar, walking next to her, his hand-carved marble factions were relaxed, but his deep purple orbs held something strange this time, so different from his normally indifferent look that seemed so smug to her the first time she ever saw him. 

"Oh no... I'm not going on a _that_ " she stopped him when he leaded her to a big fancy carriage adorned with black and red banners, and the prince lifted his eyebrows involuntarily at her sentence "My lady?" he asked confused.

"I'm riding. I love riding. And I already told you to just call me Lyanna." she sighed, expecting a reprimand for not wanting to go on that fancy wheeled cage they surely brought around just for her, she could already feel her eyes about to roll. 

"Very well then... Lyanna" he said kindly, and her eyes widened at the gesture.

He brought a horse for her and helped her up carefully, then got up on his black stallion next to her, her confusion for getting her way _that_ easy lasted a few seconds. She even got a whole argument in her mind, until she heard the sound of the gates of the castle.

As the gates of Winterfell opened and the horses began their pace, she turned her head around, and with a simple glare at her home, she knew a part of her was staying there, next to Benjen, Brandon and her father. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This was short, i know. I was wondering, does anyone want Cersei to appear here? I'm thinking about bringing her briefly in the story hahaha, i hate her I SWEAR I HATE HER, but i think it would be interesting to have her.
> 
> Oh, two people asked me why Lyanna's eyes are hazel/greish hazel .. it is because of a fanart i saw a few months ago, i've been looking for it to show you guys but i can't find the link, i don't know if it's been taken down or if i just can't find it, i will keep looking either way so i can share it with you. I PROMISE is not so different from her usually grey eyes hahahaha remember they are GREYISH! HAHA
> 
> Anyway, thanks for leaving your comments and reading this!


	6. A Golden Cage To Call Home

The temperature was what hit her first, the capital was hot, even with the soft breeze of the sea caressing her pale skin. King's Landing was noisy and bright and loud, with hundreds of candles lit in every window, giving the city an amber colored look in the sunset. The streets were crowded, there were musicians sitting on the streets with their instruments, kids with dirty faces chasing dogs and laughing, taverns with drunk men and whores with little clothes on the entrances, and the smell... _Fish_.

She noticed the moment they arrived how Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent tightened up, each one like a wall to separate them from the smallfolk, their faces were turned to stone, and when the crowd received them, she understood. People, _too many people,_ receiving them when they noticed the royal party. Some would throw roses petals at them, some of them looking at Rhaegar with infatuation, others with joy, others would simply look impressed with dirty faces, but suspicion was a certain thing in the curious eyes of the people when they looked at her, riding next to their beloved Dragon Prince. She could hear kids and adults claiming his name with excitement, and he greeted them back with his hand and a charming smile adorning his lips. She wondered if he ever even put a foot on those streets full of common people that seemed to worship him so much. 

At the Red Keep, a huge metallic gate was opening for them, guards saluting as they passed by, only to return to being stiff in their places seconds later. A bunch of servants rushed there the moment they arrived, and their belongings were soon enough being carried away the Gods knew where.

She felt dizzy for a moment, surrounded by strangers, with that heavy, foreign heat upon her skin that just would't go away. The unfamiliar scenario displaying in front of her seemed surreal, with the sunset painting the sky in oranges and lilac tones and the scarlet castle rising up high, high, high in front of her, with spiky ending towers and valyrian architecture. A place to call 'home' now.  _Or perhaps a scarlet cage._

"Lyanna" Rhaegar called her by her name, making her jerk towards him "Follow me"

She looked at him with distrust, but she loosened once she realized he was probably just going to guide her through that damned big place.

"Where are we going now? I'm exhausted" she claimed as she followed him inside the Red Keep, that seemed to want to swallow her alive with its tall walls and detailed, carved pillars.

"To greet the King" he said warily, with a serious expression on his face. She could not deny the nervousness growing inside her, the tales of the 'Mad King' suddenly gained strength in her head as her heart began to beat faster. "Please, just... Do as I say. The King can be... Difficult. And he won't tolerate any follies or insolence." he warned her kindly, but serious, with fleeting concern in his indigo orbs towards the wolf-blooded maid, who showed an explosive temper in the time he had with her in Winterfell and in the trip back to the capital. Just one of her rude answers, and her pretty head would be adorning a spike.

She just nodded, and fear rooted deeply inside her chest when she remembered again the name they gave Aerys II Targaryen: 'The Mad King'.

A kingsguard was at the entrance of the throne room, standing straight in his golden armor and crisp, clean, white cloak. "Ser Gerold" Rhaegar greeted the man.

"Your highness, my lady" the man bowed respectfully towards them, smiling gently to her for a fraction of second.

The huge doors opened in front of them, and Lyanna felt a chill down her spine as the sight of the throne room began to take form. Rhaegar extended his hand to her with a wary expression on his face, and for the first time, she gladly took it. She felt like a lost pup in that place, and for better or for worse, Rhaegar Targaryen was the only person she acquainted so far in that place.

She sighed deeply before taking his hand, and with a heavy weight on her chest, began to walk with him. 

The white and black marble floors were perfectly polished, shining in yellow and orange tones from the flames of the torches that were lightning the room intensely, massive columns raised strong at the sides of the room, the giant dragon skulls hanging on the walls as a proof of their existence in that world were exactly as her father had described her once, back to when she was a little girl, and then... The iron throne. Imposing, made of hundreds of swords from fallen warriors, but what scared her the most was not that spiky throne that seemed so sharp, but the man siting in it.

King Aerys was siting in the throne, wearing a golden, magnificent crown upon his head, but something did not fit. His body was thin,  _too thin,_ his long silver hair and lilac eyes so characteristic of the Targaryen were nothing like Rhaegar's. His eyes were a much paler shade than the prince's, so pale that they seemed lifeless. But there was so much more. They were suspicious, and full of malice, his expression wasn't kind at all, his mouth was twisted in a strange grimace, his hands, bony and curled, and his nails were so long they looked like claws. She never thought one single man would cause so much fright in her. But yet, Aerys looked like the throne would consume his slim shape at any moment.

"Your Grace" Rhaegar greeted and bowed, letting her hand go, and giving her a quick squeeze before doing it as a sign.

"Your Grace" Lyanna followed him, not daring to glance at the King in front of her.

"This is Lady Lyanna Stark, of Winterfell." Rhaegar spoke, his voice sounded calmed and collected, absolutely neutral.

His father's eyes examined her carefully, his mouth formed a twisted smile when his pale eyes went over her. Lyanna shrank slightly. "I see I made you a favor when i ordered you to bring her here and wed her." he started, and even if the words could actually be taken as a compliment, coming from King Aerys, it seemed like a cruel mock and display of power only "She's a beauty, good enough to keep a dragon's bed warm." he said. Lyanna lifted her eyes to him, and she only saw one thing: Madness, and lust. "She'll do" he said, moving one hand carelessly in approval. 

Her mouth parted, but not a single sound came out of her. For the first time, her direwolf spirit felt more like a pup spirit. Under a normal situation, she would become heated by such offensive words, but that time... Those scrutinizing lilac eyes on her made her feel chills, and not even the disrespect she just got turned her rage on like it would, if any other living being in the Seven Kingdoms recited such words. This man, was terrifying, and that was all she could think of.

"I'm glad it pleases you, father." Rhaegar spoke cooly, and she wondered if that would be her life from that moment ahead. To hear the King's offenses day after day, with a useless husband who would do nothing more but to agree to the man's follies "Now, if you allow us to retire, I'm sure Lady Stark is tired from-" but before Rhaegar could continue, Aerys growled under his breath. "Yes, yes boy, go... But start making the arrangements for the wedding, I want you married as soon as possible, I'll announce the betrothal tomorrow. Now go, get out of my sight" the King barked, Rhaegar bowed to him along with Lyanna.

When they got out of the throne room, she felt she could breathe again, as if a huge weight was lifted from her chest instantly. That was her _home_ now, a place ruled by that terrifying man that everyone called 'The Mad King', and indeed, he deserved the name. It was a rare thing, a man who made justice to his reputation. But he perfectly did.

"Where are we going?" she asked with an involuntary trembling voice when she realized Rhaegar was leading her way. Oh, how she _hated_ to sound so frightened, so vulnerable.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid, be strong, stop acting like a scared chicken._

"We'll go meet the queen." he paused for a few seconds, and she wondered if that would be worse than what she just witnessed. "Don't worry. I assure you, she's not like my father" Rhaegar claimed, as if he just read her mind.

"I'm not scared" she snapped instantly, her brows frowned and she lifted her chin up, trying to look confident.  _Convincing enough, Lyanna_ she thought to herself.

"Of course you're not..." he muttered and sighed. 

Lyanna followed him through the corridors, the walls made of pale stone were all illuminated with the amber glow of fire, and then, they reached a draw bridge. "This is Maegor's Holdfast" he explained when they passed through another pair of massive doors across the bridge, being guarded by two gold cloaks. The Holdfast,  was a castle inside a castle, the towers rose up behind strongly built walls, twelve feet thick. That was sure a safe fortress. 

"Ser Barristan" Rhaegar greeted to another white cloak standing next to a pair of doors in the holdfast "Your Highness" the man said back to him. 

"Is my mother available?" 

"Yes, my prince. She was expecting you" the man pointed out.

Rhaegar nodded and turned to her, a silent 'Are you ready?' hid behind those dark eyes of his, and she nodded lightly. She was definitely _not_ ready. 

When they got in, the fresh breeze blew, coming through the beautiful arches of the chambers, a mesmerizing view of the sea spread wide in front of her.

A tall, slender woman was waiting for them there, and she approached gracefully with a warm smile on her beautiful face when she saw them in, her amethyst eyes lit up in adoration when she looked at her son.

Gods, she was surreal. Her long, silver hair falling over her shoulders in soft curls, framing her delicate face, her features were a tribute to perfection, her skin was like ivory silk, and those violet gems so much like Rhaegar's, but in a softer tone, could paralyze any mortal. Rhaegar looked nothing like his father, that was clear, but now, she knew where his beauty came from. Queen Rhaella was easily the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her six-and-ten years. 

"My boy" the Queen cheered, and as soon as she spoke with the most authentic joy, Rhaegar held his mother in a hug, holding her in his arms as if she was made of crystal.

"Mother" he breathed, only letting go of the hold after several seconds, and Lyanna felt the blood going to her face when the queen's eyes were suddenly fixed on her "This is Lady Lyanna" he introduced her politely.

"Oh, but what a _beautiful_ girl you are, Lady Stark." the Queen smiled "I'm so pleased to finally meet you, sweet girl" she grabbed Lyanna's hand delicately, and with such a closeness, a wave of lavender warmth took over her senses.

"Pleased to meet you too, Your Grace" she shyly answered. It was probably the first time in her entire life she felt like that, like she really,  _really_ didn't want to screw things up in front of someone. 

"Viserys, mother?" Rhaegar asked.

"Oh" the Queen looked back at Rhaegar and then to Lyanna again "He was waiting for you, he was so anxious, that poor thing. He's been reading the books you used to read when you were his age, and he wanted to tell you he finally finished reading some of them" she chuckled "But he fell asleep, so i took him to his chambers. I'm sure he will look for you in the morning"

"I hope not too early. The trip was long and tiresome" Rhaegar said.

"Go, go and rest my son. You too, Lady Lyanna, I made sure your chambers are already prepared for you in the Maidenvault, sweet girl" Rhaella said with gentle, welcoming eyes.

"Thank you, Your Grace, you are very kind" 

"I'm glad to have you as a new addition to the family, I'm sure you will be a wonderful Crown Princess" queen Rhaella's voice and words were gentle and kind, but the meaning in those words made Lyanna's heart stop, making her remember her purpose in King's Landing as _his_ future wife. Suddenly, an urge to jump out of those arches into the ocean invaded her.

Instead, she smiled politely under the Queen's tender gaze, trying to push the suicidal thoughts out of her head. But Rhaegar's stare was one of acknowledging. He knew what she was thinking.

"Jenny" the queen called, and a thin girl with dark hair and dark eyes appeared quiet like a mouse in the door frame that leaded to another extension of the Queen's chambers.

"Your Grace?" 

"Take Lady Lyanna to her chambers in the Maidenvault, please" 

"Yes, Your Grace." the thin servant girl said as she walked slowly towards the door, waiting for Lyanna to follow her. 

Lyanna nodded, and with a thankful smile, said goodbye to Queen Rhaella, wondering how could a woman so sweet put up with such a terrible man like king Aerys.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When she finally reached her chambers, she learned she had four handmaidens already, all very young girls, probably her age. They showed her the chambers amiably, and it was a surprising thing how well prepared everything was. A hot bath was already waiting for her, a bed full of pillows in silk covers that seemed so tempting after her long trip were calling her in. A heap of bright colored fruits rested upon a bronze recipient in a wooden table next to the balcony... At least she could't complain of her accommodations.

But all she could do after taking the hot bath the servants prepared for her, was to sink her body in the big bed full of pillows, a soft scent of vanilla impregnated in the silks. Her head turned to the wide arches on the walls at one side of her bed, the sound of the waves clashing against the rocks and the salty air were a reminder of how far she was from home. The only thing that comforted her, but at the same time made her stomach feel heavy with sickness, was to know that she would see her father, Brandon and Ned again,  _in her wedding day._  

Her  _fucking_ wedding.

"Princess Lyanna Targaryen" she teased in a whisper, and the words tasted like acid on her tongue.

The Gods knew she would give up that title any day to become a simple peasant if it meant she would be free to choose her own path.

The single thought of her wedding day made her sick, thinking of all the people that would be attending, every single one expecting her to act like the princess she was supposed to be, and after that, her old life would be gone. She would be a wife, probably a pregnant woman after _he_ forced himself on her like she _knew_ he would, because after all and despite how 'kind' he appeared to be, he was a prince, and royalty was never denied anything. It made her feel sick. But it didn't mean she would make it easy. She would never bend her spirit, she would not become Rhaegar Targaryen's belonging just like that, without giving a fight. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and nobody would ever change that, not even a royal husband.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Is everything alright, mother?" he asked when he saw that look on her face, a look so familiar through the years, but always breaking his heart in the same way no matter how many times he's seen it before.

Her gentle eyes were so sad, but yet, her lips formed a lovely smile for him, for her son. 

"Yes, my boy. Everything is alright."

He inspected her slender shape, looking for evidence of what he knew happened every time his father visited her, but with relief in the deepest part of his soul, he found no trace of dark lilac bruises, bites or scratches on her like he did sometimes. He would never understand how any man could do that to a woman, it made him feel sick and raged and boiled his blood everytime he thought about it, and when it happened, he could do nothing but to feel useless. His father would not only hurt her even more if he protested or tried to defend her, but he would also not bat an eye to have his head on a spike or burn him in the throne room, and that was clear as crystal to him and everyone else. 

And even if he didn't mind dying defending her, he could not afford to die and leave his mother and brother at his father's mercy.

"I promise, mother... Things will change" he held her hand carefully, as if she was made of glass. But rage in his dragon blood was dangerously running inside him, just like it always did whenever he gave too much thought to King Aerys.

"I know you will be an excellent King, my son" 

He hoped so, he  _had_ to. She raised a hand and placed it softly on his cheek, her tender eyes full of promising hope and pride every time they landed on his eldest son.

"You won't have to endure this for much longer, I promise you this, today" he sighed, deep frowned brows marking his mien.

Her eyes changed, they seemed frightened with shock at his last sentence, and he knew he shouldn't have said it, but he needed to give her some kind of hope that everything would be over soon, that everything would change and that nobody would hurt her ever again. "Don't do anything dangerous, Rhaegar. I beg you. Don't put your life in risk. Viserys and you are all i have" she muttered scared.

"Everything will be alright. You don't have to worry" 

He said nothing more. He already put her life in danger with his slightly treasonous talk. The only way to protect her in the meanwhile, was letting her out of everything he was planning.

He had to end his father's madness, depose him, and send him away. For his family, and for the realm. 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. A Blessed  Day For a Damned Wedding

The day was so sunny, so fresh and so beautiful it seemed to mock her cruelly. How could such a beautiful day be such a sad one? 

And how could she look more beautiful than she ever seen herself before, in a day like that?

Her reflection in the mirror had been a dreamed one when she saw herself back in the keep, the dress was so beautiful she would swear it was made by angels' hands. The bodice, embroidered with pearls, tightened her already small waist in a way that accentuated her curves, the cleavage seemed to adapt to the form of her breasts, leaving a little uncovered area at the center of them in a way that it almost made her blush, her shoulders were bare, except for two stripes of lace embroidered with pearls as well that began at the front corners of the bodice and ended up in her low back, leaving her back free of any fabric in a "V" shape.

And the skirts... They were a vision in ivory silks and chiffon. But what reminded her that she was still herself, was the maiden cloak hanging from her shoulders that made her feel so protected, a pale grey colored fabric with the dire-wolf of the Starks in the middle, adorned with crystals, so it wouldn't distune with her dress. 

Her hair was furled in the back, her front bangs looked more loosened at each side of her face, giving her a fresh look, and a single braid decorated with precious stones like crystals and lemon quarts that were tangled in it crossed her head like a headband. She never even knew she could look that beautiful.

But it didn't matter. There she was, at the Sept of Baelor, white and ivory flowers adorning the steps, and between hundreds of faces, she only recognized three. Three so much like hers and the only ones she cared about.

"Father" She murmured with a trembling voice under the gaze of Brandon and Ned, they were looking at her with awe and joy, when all she wanted to do was to cry and beg her father to take her away from there, to take her back to the north and end that craziness. But she didn't do it.

"You look too beautiful" Lord Rickard said, with pride and melancholy in his grey glassy eyes towards his only daughter, but yet, a small smile on his face.

She wrapped her arms around him for a couple seconds and the rest of the world was gone. She wished she could stay that way, that time just stopped right there and that none of what was about to happen actually happened. But she knew better than that, and the Gods had not been merciful to her to grant her such a wish. He pulled her apart and deposited a kiss on her forehead, smiling kindly and proudly at his daughter, just like he never did before. 

"Ready?" he asked, with his sight fixed on her, and she only nodded without even realizing. She could swear he was melting in tenderness looking at her in that moment, and she wouldn't be the one to break his happiness. She could never do something like that.  _Oh, father..._

He tangled his arm around hers, she took a deep breath, and even if her eyes were watery -with what everyone would naively _think_ were nothing more than happiness tears from a joyful bride, and not actually sorrowful ones- the march began. The dress was heavy, and with every step she climbed she felt it, trying not to tangle her legs with the tricky skirts she had. Hundreds of amazed eyes were on her and all she was asking for in that moment, was not to trip over a step. Not to be her usual self, more likely. 

At the entrance of the sept, she felt her stomach heavy and her blood was rushing so fast in her veins that she felt nauseous, like she could faint at any moment, her grip became tighter around her father's arm. The red and yellow colored sunlight passing through the dyed glasses of the windows forming the seven pointed star, along with those seven massive stone statues surrounding her gave the place a sacred and foreign look, was it even real? Was she having a nightmare?

More faces inside the sept, all of them looking at her, either with joy, with devouring curiosity or green envy. She would gladly switch places with anyone in there. 

Climbing the last steps inside the sept, and when her father's arm was no longer there to hold her and give her at least a little security, she focused on what was going on. 

The silver Dragon Prince stood in front of her, with a neutral expression on his painfully handsome face as he landed his dark eyes upon her without a single glimpse of compassion towards her. Wearing black velvet doublet that fitted him perfectly, his silver blonde hair was falling upon his shoulders, while his skin looked golden in the light of the sept, giving him some kind of divine air that made her sicker and sicker by the second.  _That_ , was supposed to be her husband.

The High Septon began to speak, her eyes focused on Rhaegar's dark purple eyes, and even if he was no longer looking at her but at the old man reciting words at them, she wandered in those beautiful orbs that bled in a lighter shade of purple when a gleam of light touched them. The High Septon's words were like a disperse noise in the back of her mind, all she could really hear was her heart beating fast in her chest as if it would rip her skin open at any minute and her irregular breathing going in and out, in and out. Who would held her if she fainted? There were too many stairs. 

She would hurt herself badly if she fell. She could even die if she was lucky enough to break her neck in the fall. 

The amazing pair of indigo orbs his husband owned, suddenly were staring at her again, emotionless, making a gesture she did not quiet understood at the beginning, but then... She woke up.

Realizing it was time to change her maiden cloak for the Targaryen cloak, she grasped air in her lungs and turned around clumsily, as she could. She felt his fingers on her shoulders, loosening the strips that held her maiden cloak on her gracefully. She swallowed hard when she felt her maiden cloak leaving her back bare in the air, _his_ sight probably upon her, and then being replaced by another with black and red and a three headed dragon in the middle she knew it had, even if she couldn't see it.

And just like that, she just traded her freedom for a golden dragon cage. 

She turned to face him, feeling his skin on hers when he grabbed her hand with his own. Hearing him recite those words that seemed so empty to her, that held no meaning at all, made her stomach twist painfully.  _These are not my Gods_. Her voice sounded hollow as she started reciting the words she also memorized, feeling like she was publicly signing with her own voice a death sentence. 

Her chest was tight, and suddenly, the black and red cloak she was wearing seemed too heavy, ready to drag her all the way down into the same darkness as the black of the cloak itself. Ready to swallow her. It was official. Or it was about to be.

Rhaegar helped her kneel when they were told to by the High Septon, holding her hand gently in his, as the silks of her dress protected her knees from the cold black and white marble floor of the sept. Lyanna felt even tinier surrounded by those seven gigantic statues of strange gods that were giving her a life condemn right there, their faces seemed to mock her, seemed to be laughing at her misery. 

A light weight was put on her head, a crown she didn't even look at because her eyes were fixed on the marble under her and its patterns, as if she could ever care for a stupid crown. 

She stood up, accepting Rhaegar's hand with clenched teeth, it was done, the vows, the coronation, except for one thing... 

Getting closer to her, hesitantly, he put a hand under her chin and lifted her face kindly, but burning her skin with his own, gently brushing his soft lips against hers in a touch that only lasted for a fugacious second.Her body was stiff in her place, but her soul was trying to break free desperately from her body, her vows and his lips. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here you have the wedding...  
> Next chapter is the feats and bedding, so things are going to get awkward hahaha  
> Anyway, thanks for liking, subscribing and commenting :) you help me a lot!


	8. A Dance And Cold Sheets

 

Of all the women in that hall, he was pretty sure his wife was the one who wanted him the least. It was painfully obvious by the daggers she threw at him with her amazing greyish hazel eyes everytime he dared to put his hand on hers. As soon as politeness allowed her, she left his side and went to her family's table, and at least it seemed that she relaxed a little because after that, she was smiling and talking and dancing with her dark haired brothers that looked so much like her.

Why, with every single highborn lady sighing in delight at his single presence, did he have to marry the only one who seemed to despise him so passionately?

"She is a beauty" his mother's voice sounded sweet and delicate, like bells next to him. She was looking at Lyanna, just like he was.

"She is" he breathed with a smile on his lips, she was truly stunning with those dark locks and eyes on fire, but he knew what hid under that beautiful exterior. A razor blade sharp tongue and a mood brought all the way from the seven hells to torment him in that marriage.

"How are things progressing with her?" Rhaella asked, paying special attention to him when she finished her sentence.

"I... I don't know." he admitted "We barely even speak." he responded in a dull tone, lazily sliding his finger along the edge of the goblet in front of him.

"You should try, my son"

He looked at Lyanna again, laughing internally while thinking of himself trying to speak to her without receiving those cold, deadly stares she would always throw at him. Maybe it would be easier to make it snow in King's Landing, than winning her favor.

There she was, dancing cheerfully with Brandon Stark, a tall man with dark hair, stormy grey eyes and thick beard. A man from the north, indeed, proud and strong. She was happy and full of life, glowing like he never saw her do before, and he was not the only one who noticed. He did not miss the lustful stares his wife attracted, many lords were undressing her with their glares, including his cousin, Robert, who looked like he was about to jump on her from his seat, devouring her with a simple look.

At least she was stunningly beautiful to look at, he gave her that. 

"I will try." he promised as he frowned slightly "But she's not fond of me." he remembered.

Rhaella's hand went to his shoulder, as delicately as a butterfly would perch, giving him a kind smile, filled with acknowledgment. "She's been brought here all the way from the north, snatched out of her home and away from her family... And she's just a girl of six-and-ten. Be patient, my boy. She will be delighted by you when she gets to actually know you."  

After thinking about it from his mother's perspective, he suddenly pitied the Lady Stark, and now Targaryen Princess. She was nothing more but a girl in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers who cared more about the crown upon her head than her actual being.

He would try to please her, he would, but how could he if she avoided him like the pest. She probably saw him as the responsible for everything that happened to her, she blamed _him_. As if it was his choice to marry her,  _his fault._

Lyanna Stark would never forgive him for  _that._

And suddenly, his mind went to the bedding, and his mood fell atrociously. He was pretty sure that, on his own wedding day, he would be one of the few men in that feast who would end up 'laying' only in pillows and cold sheets. She would probably rather throw herself from a window of his chambers, to the rocks at the bottom of the sea, before letting him touch a single hair of hers.

"Patience, my boy. Little by little" Rhaella said softly, and 'little by little' was the only way with Lyanna, at least if he didn't want to end up being stuck in a tormenting marriage with the beautiful she wolf. Maybe she would never love him, but at least they could get along just well enough for their lives to be peaceful. After all, he made a promise to Lord Stark, he would take care of his only daughter. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Catelyn Tully was such a pretty, but shy lady, with her auburn colored hair and sky blue eyes, her face had round features that made her lovely at the sight, her voice was sweet and her words were kind. Such a contrast next to Brandon, who was arrogant and loud and strong and gruff. It was obvious who would be the one in control in that marriage. An intense blush appeared on the lady's cheeks every single time her older brother looked at her. The girl already liked Brandon, a lot, and it showed. She only hoped Brandon could behave and value the lovely auburn haired girl next to her, instead of sticking his cock out at the first whore passing in front of him, like he usually did.

"King's Landing is so alive, Your Highness. It must be exciting to live here" she said shyly, her blue gems wandering around the decorated hall and stopping timidly on Brandon, of all people in there.

"I already told you, call me Lyanna. We're to be good-sisters" Lyanna tried to convince her once again that night, grabbing her hand with hers and with a friendly smile on her lips. "And yes, it is. But I miss home..." Lyanna dragged out of her mouth, thinking that, yes, perhaps King's Landing was an interesting place -despite the odd people everywhere, wearing invisible masks to hide their true intentions- but she missed the authenticity of Winterfell.

Catelyn's cheeks lit red, her brows arched down in embarrassment "I'm sorry Your... Lyanna." she quickly corrected "I didn't mean to..." 

"Oh, don't worry!" Lyanna put the smile back on her face as she could, using it like her _own_ little mask for appearances, just like King's Landing's people.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up, almost jerking when thinking that it could be Rhaegar, claiming for her presence at the royal table. But where she thought she would find dark indigo, she found steely grey so much like hers, staring down on her. _Ned_. Her brother offered her a hand, and she took it, getting on her feet to go to the center of the hall, where several couples were dancing with joy at the pace of a cheerful melody. 

"I've missed you, dear Ned" Lyanna said in his arms, dancing at the pace of the music, careful not to trip with her skirts -When would she be able to get rid of those?.

"Me too, Lya... Look at you, you're a Princess, sister" he smiled back at her with proud eyes. Why were his brothers and father so proud of a title that didn't even fit her? Unwittingly, Ned plucked a string of her annoyance.  _It is not his fault._

"I wish I wasn't" she muttered, and her smile died inevitably in front of him.

His expression changed for a few seconds, from true happiness to concern. Ned was caring like that, her sweet Ned, always concerned. Brandon would probably just snort and tell her to stop complaining and to start enjoying her new position.  "Is he mistreating you? Is he behaving inappropriately?" he asked, with sharp wariness in his grey stare, that for a fraction of second, flew to the Prince with fierce suspicion, and then back to her.

A sudden, and unexpected wave of guilt embraced her. 

Of all her time in King's Landing, there was not a single moment in which the the Crown Prince ever even spoke moodily to her, not even when her answers were sharp and her stares were cold as the north whenever he tried to talk to her. He was rather polite, and patient. _Too_ patient. But politeness would end that night, and probably so would his patience.  _The bedding._

"No" her answer came out of her mouth firm, but emotionless, and relief could be read all over Ned's face as she tried to push those horrid thoughts about the bedding away from her. "But I want to go home. I want to be with you, and Ben, and Brandon, and father" she almost cried.

Her brother looked at her with kind, understanding eyes, as if he was looking at a child who was asking for something pitiful and impossible."Lya... We had a wonderful life in Winterfell. But change is not always bad, even if it seems so now, and it's a wonderful life that awaits you, sweet sister" 

Her head rested on his chest, moving along with him in the middle of that hall full of people she didn't even know or care about. So many foreign eyes were on her, so many strange faces.

She saw a glimpse of silver and gold among those couples, the Lannister lady was clung to Rhaegar with such a pleased expression and such infatuated eyes she wanted to walk to them and tell her she could have him if she wanted, that she would gave her crown to her if she wanted, at least someone would be happy.  _Take her instead, fuck her tonight if you want, please, please!_  

How ironic it was, the only woman in the hall that didn't look at Rhaegar with enamored eyes -so much like Cersei Lannister's-, was the one who had him all to herself. She stopped wondering 'why her' days ago, and came up with only two possible answers... Either the Seven Gods of the South were mocking her cruelly and using her for their twisted amusement, or her Old Gods were putting an impossible test in front of her that somehow they expected her to pass. 

Another turn around the hall, and the Dragon Prince was missing. Lady Cersei was dancing then with his brother, Ser Jamie Lannister, with a smug smirk on her amazingly gorgeous face. 

So where did her captor go?

"May I?" Rhaegar stood in front of her and Ned, like a ghost who's been attracted by her thoughts, asking a dance with her with the most charming smile he could possibly have. She felt her teeth clenched tightly.

"Of course, Your Grace" Ned gave her to him politely.

Eddard left, smiling at his sister, leaving Lyanna with supplicant eyes. The moment his arms encircled her waist, and their bodies were closer than they have ever been before, a suffocating feeling grew strongly inside her, constricting her chest tightly. All she wanted to do was to push him away, right there, in the middle of the hall and at their own wedding's feast.

Instead, she took a deep breath.

She never saw him from so close, that was the first thing she thought about. His eyes were even more mysterious from up close, that dark shade of purple contrasting heavenly with his ivory skin, his factions looked like they were handmade, and he smelled like white wood and mint and it was intoxicating her senses slowly. At least, her husband was painfully pleasing to the eyes, she could not deny.

"Seems like we've attracted quite a few stares" he mentioned with a smirk on his face that made him look even more attractive, and she only looked around. So many people looking at them, some were infatuated, others with hateful looks, but in the end, all of those faces were mixed up as they were swirling around the hall gracefully. Apparently, her husband had more balance in one foot that she would ever have in her entire body. At least he was leading her gently, and not forcing her moves.

"Are you okay?" he asked with inquisitive eyes. It was probably because of the pained expression on her face.

"Oh yes, you have no idea" she spat sarcastically, and she was pretty sure she transmitted her hatred towards him with every part of her being. Hopefully, if he was just as smart as he was said to be, he would catch her attitude. But just in case he didn't...  "I hate this" she admitted, and his mouth made a grim in discomfort. 

"I'm sorry" he muttered.

"Oh, why? Just because you and your mad father dragged me here against my will and forced me to marry _you,_ to be a royal broodmare? Don't worry" her words were acid on her tongue, splashing the silver haired Prince with her venom, they urged out of her mouth like a flowing river, or more like a powerful waterfall, those words she wanted to scream days ago.

His grab on her waist loosened a little instantly, and she was sure she made her rejection towards him clear enough.  _Now let go of me._

"I don't want to hurt you, or displease you, Lyanna" his brows were frowned, and his words held apparent sincerity in them. Still, lying and pretending was easy, specially for those born and raised in King's Landing. If she could only trust his sweet words and pretty face. But she would  _never_ trust him, and she would certainly  _never_ want him near her.

"Don't you?" she hissed, with her mind straight thinking about what would happen after that feast. Apparently, he wasn't thinking about  _that_  as hurting her.  _Self centered pig._

"I don't, Lyanna. I promised your father I would take care of you." he told her, voice as soft and velvet and as strong as steel.

Before she could even think of her next gruff answer, the music stopped and the hall got quiet. Too quiet. "It's time for the bedding!" they heard the King's raspy voice resonating in the place.

She could only thank the Gods in that moment that their titles of 'Prince' and 'Princess' were defending them against the humiliation of being stripped before hundreds of strange eyes and then being carried away, and practically thrown into the royal chambers, touched by several strange hands. 

Instead... 

They were walking to the royal chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, being followed by Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne. With every step, she felt more and more sick, the life escaping her. 

When they stood in front of the open doors of  _his_  chambers, she instinctively looked around her, the hallways were empty, but... She was sure she wouldn't go far with that dress and with two skilled Kingsguards behind her. Better to save her the humiliation of being dragged by force into that place.

_What do I do?_

Hesitantly, with hot tears that started to flood her sight, she stepped in, followed by Rhaegar, and the sound of the doors closing behind them made her jump with her heart beating fast in her chest, all she could see was scarlet fear with every breathing.

The bedchamber was illuminated with the golden glow of candles that were everywhere, it was an exceedingly large room, with the same arched windows as the ones she saw in Rhaella's chambers when they visited her. The room was decorated with ivory curtains hanging at each sides of those arches, next to the windows, a carved wooden desk rested near a divan, upholstered in dark, red velvet. A round wooden table with a golden jar full of wine and two goblets next to it were standing in a spot, but what scared her the most because of its meaning... The giant wooden bed with carved details of dragons painted in gold, pushed against the wall in the middle of the room, covered with silk sheets the same color as the curtains, pillows piled on top of the bed and a single bouquet of red and white roses resting upon them.

She saw Rhaegar sideways, taking his doublet off and her heart began to beat fast again. Her eyes landed on him involuntarily. Wearing only his black breeches and boots, his defined body seemed hard as rock under that golden, smooth skin, his silver tresses were falling upon his bare shoulders.  _Oh Gods._  She gulped heavily and fear took over her. How would it all end? 

It would be useless to fight him, he was notoriously taller, and bigger, _and_ stronger than her. Even if she resisted and kicked and screamed, there was no way she could beat his strength. The air was going in and out of her frantically as she stood frozen there, in the middle of the room, her eyes went to the bed, and images of herself being held under  _him,_  while he forced himself inside her _painfully_ flooded her mind. Tears were already down on her cheeks, she wasn't ready, and there was nothing she could do. She would resist, but for how long? What object in that damned room would she use to defend herself?

Rhaegar's eyes were fixed on her, she realized a couple of seconds later, and she jerked violently. He seemed surprised, curious, and he walked towards, her holding a goblet in his hand, and passing it to her. "Don't be scared, please. Wine?" he asked quietly, offering her the drink.

She felt the rage growing wildly in her after his offering. As if he could get her drunk to fuck her, he was so wrong.

With her trembling hand, she swished the globe away fiercely, and it landed on the floor, making a strident noise that made Rhaegar frown, metal clashing against stone, and the dark red liquid was spilled all over the white marble. The prince only lifted an eyebrow at her. She felt her face like stone, with lips pressed tight against each other and clenched fists.

He sighed deeply while turning around, and sat on the divan, undoing his breeches and boots in front of her and every single hair on her body stiffened and lifted at his actions. He was going to take her. He actually was going to do it. Her sight quickly travelled through the stance, trying to find something she could use as a weapon against him and his brute strength.

But something was wrong.

He folded the clothes and left them on top of a small table, grabbing a few pillows from the bed, he walked towards the divan again and accommodated the pillows there. After that, she saw him laying there, his hard and defined body curled to fit properly. 

"W-What?" she barely could articulate the word, stuttering clumsily. Was he not going to force her?

"What?" he lifted his eyes to her, with arched eyebrows and lips parted, expectant for her to say something.

"Ain't you gonna try to...?" 

His side smile appeared on his handsome face mockingly towards her, he looked amused by her reaction, and that made her forget her fears for a brief moment only to let anger take its place. She was certainly not jesting with him. "No, Lyanna. I'm not" he responded once the first signs of her anger transformed her expression.

"Why?" the question sounded demanding, but it wasn't. It was just pure surprise. 

He sighed, visibly tired, and supported his head with a hand, resting his bended elbow on the soft material of the divan. "You don't want me to. Do you?" he asked dully, and her blood freeze. Was he serious?

"No" she answered quickly, not leaving any room for doubts.

"Fine." he sighed "Then I'll just sleep." he said as he rested his head on the pillows once again, closing his eyes for a brief moment in which, apparently, he thought the discussion was over. 

Was that a trick? What was the trying to do? He was the man who just married her and he didn't want to consummate the marriage, he didn't want to claim what was _his_ under the laws of the men? That was odd, too odd, there had to be a trick behind it. She heard so many stories about men forcing their maidenly wives on their first nights, they always sent chills down her spine. 

"Why?" she asked again in a suspicious manner.

Another sigh passed through the parted lips of the silver Prince resting comfortably in front of her, his lids were heavy on his eyes, she noticed as he put a hand between the back of his head and the pillow. "Because I'm not going to rape you, Lyanna. So, you can chill, alright? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going anywhere near you, unless you want me to" 

As he said it, his eyes were closing again and his breathing was slow and calmed, with knees bending to fit in the divan.

When she processed the information, her jaw dropped.

Her shoulders relieved the tension in them, and she turned around, trying not to show how startled she truly was. All day, she only thought about the wedding night, torturing herself over and over with images of the dragon inside of her, forcing her to open her legs for him, hurting her and using her as a common whore. But there she was, unharmed and untouched, and there he was, a Crown Prince, sleeping uncomfortably in a divan too small for his warrior body. He could have easily taken her, but he didn't.

She turned her head slightly over her shoulder to make sure he was not looking, and he was apparently asleep already. She unlaced her dress clumsily, the laces in her low back were too tight, but she untied them anyway. The heavy skirts and bodice fell around her feet on the floor and only her small clothes remained on her, barely covering her body. Her sight wandered around the room, while letting her hair down in soft curls, looking for a robe or anything else she could use, like one of Rhaegar's tunics, and she found it. 

Hanging near the bed, a red robe made of silk that fitted her just perfectly caught her eye, and she realized there was another one, but larger, which was probably meant for Rhaegar. 

She climbed to the bed, throwing the flowers to a side of it on the floor. Lyanna got under the sheets, feeling her skin being caressed by those soft silks, and she felt she could just sink in comfort in that mattress, finally free of that tight dress. She laid her head on the pillows, and her sight rested upon the divan in front of the bed.

His legs were bended to fit in it, his face was peaceful, with silvery-blonde strands falling upon it and framing his handsome face, his soft looking, full lips were parted in relaxation, and his bare, golden chest went up and down in a slow pace. Maybe if she wasn't in that situation that she hated so much, she could even _appreciate_  the Dragon Prince's attractiveness. 

She thought fleetingly of waking him up and tell him he could sleep on the bed if he wanted to, after all, he meant no harm to her. But her pride and her wariness stopped her. She could not allow herself to trust anyone in the capital, and since he decided not to bed her until she wanted him to, she would not give him any hopes either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Sorry guys, but their first time together is a long way from here. But Rhaegar will make a little sacrifice for Lyanna later in the story :) and that's when she will trust him. Buuuuut, NOT YET. So yeah. Thanks for reading!


	9. Melting Ice

“News from the Eyrie?” he asked, pushing back the silver locks of hair falling annoyingly to his face from the bunch in his head. 

“Not yet, my prince. Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon had not answered yet” the man in front of him spoke, with his reddish eyebrows knitted in displease as he said it.

“Robert Baratheon will not join us. But Lord Arryn… I’m almost sure he will” 

He knew convincing Robert Baratheon to join his cause in war after he ‘stole’ his betrothed-to-be was a lost cause, his cousin was a proud man with a huge ego, ego that was surely still wounded by the appropriation of Lyanna Stark, a girl in which, apparently, he was very interested in before he appeared and ‘stole’ her from him.

A titan in battles, some called him, with his powerful hammer that not too many man could lift and a rage of the seven hells, Robert Baratheon and his army would have been of great help. They could have surrounded King’s Landing easily with the Lannisters, Tyrells, Tullys and his cousin’s army. But they still would do it without him.

And, Jon Arryn was still on the map, he would probably support the Starks.

“Perhaps…” Jon spoke, saying the words as soon as the idea crossed his mind “If we have Lord Arryn… He could convince Robert Baratheon” 

Rhaegar made a grim immediately as he heard Jon. It wouldn’t work, and Jon was being naively ambitious if he really believed it would work.

“It won’t happen. I believe the Lord of the Stormlands won’t be joining this war, my friend. He won’t join my cause, since i’m the man who married the girl of his interest and wounded his pride. He won’t support my father either, since he’s the one who ordered the betrothal. House Baratheon is out of this.” he finished with neutral eyes, making his own predictions about the matter “So let’s move on.”

The redhead in front of him frowned, and it appeared that he was about to say something else, but the unspoken words died in his mouth.  

Sometimes, Jon didn’t seem to understand that they could not control everyone and everything around them as they wished. 

“Send a rider to Casterly Rock. And another to Highgarden” Rhaegar’s voice was confident and he knew such a simple sentence had such a heavy meaning that he almost felt the goosebumps crawling out in his skin. Those were two of the most, if not _the_ most important locations in Westeros’ map for the plan to work.

House Tyrell was loyal to the Targaryens for a long time, but if they could choose between the Targaryen Mad King or the Targaryen Crown Prince and heir to the throne, along with his sanity, the answer was already obvious. 

And the lions… They still didn’t know about the plot that was taking place slowly, just like the Tyrells, but Rhaegar was sure Tywin Lannister would be one to understand that Aerys was no longer suitable to be king, specially after all the ridiculous offenses that made him renounce as Hand of the King. He also knew the lion would want something in exchange…

 _Power_. 

Jon Connington was sitting in front of him, with lips pressed against each other tightly, the red haired man knew as well as he did that the Lannisters were one of the most important pieces on that chessboard, because of their numerous army and their resources. 

“As you command, Your Highness” Jon was about to stand up, but…

A heavy knock on the door made them both flinch in their seats and cross stares nervously, it was not everyday that their talking was high treason and somebody would interrupt them.

“Come in” Rhaegar moved in his seat, and as the Prince commanded, one of the heavy entrance doors opened, making a crackling noise that resounded on every corner of the stance. One of the kingsguard entered the room in his heavy golden armor and white crisp cloak hanging on his back. 

“Ser Barristan” Rhaegar acknowledged him, and the man bowed in courtesy “Your Highness, Lord Connington”  the man started with his husky voice, greeting the two men in front of him “The king has sent me to inform you about the tourney at Harrenhal he wants you to prepare to honor your royal wedding to Lady Stark” the white haired man spoke, directing his eyes to the receptor of his message: Rhaegar.

“A tourney?” the silver prince asked, throwing a fugacious look to Jon Connington, who seemed just as surprised as him. “Yes, Your Highness” Ser Barristan responded quickly.

Of course a tourney could be held to celebrate and honor a royal wedding, or any other important event for that matter, but knowing his father, Aerys would not be celebrating the wedding. His father’s motives for celebrating were never the ones a regular person would have, and they were often more of a concern to the rest of the people than anything else. If Aerys was happy, it was never good. 

If there was something the king wanted to celebrate, sure it wasn’t the wedding itself, but the ‘subjection’ of the Stark family to him, his ‘victory’ over them. 

“Very well then… Thank you, Ser Barristan. I shall speak to my father about the details later” the silver haired prince answered with his mind set on something else…

Perhaps, that tourney was not a bad idea, and he could even use it in his favor. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sweet and yet acid taste of the lemon cakes made her mouth twitch in delight, if there was something she got used to in King’s Landing in her first month -and could actually say that she loved them-, were probably those delicious little sweets the cooks prepared for her, Viserys and the Queen so often. She first tried them when little Viserys insisted, and at the beginning she was skeptical, since those cakes were not too popular in Winterfell. After all, there was no way to make lemon trees grow in the cold north. But when she tried them… She finally tasted something the southron were good at.

The sun was bright and hot that day, making her pale cheeks blush in despair. Despite her time in the court, she still was not accustomed to the high temperatures of the dragon’s lands, not even with those revealing southron dresses like the one she was wearing that day. In a bright yellow tone that contrasted strongly with her pale skin and her wooden colored wavy locks, falling down her shoulders to her hips, the dress had a _very_ low cleavage that was soothed only by the tight corset of the same color she used underneath, and the golden belt on her waist that accentuated her curves even more. It made her feel so… Exposed.

Her ladies in waiting, gossiping in front of her about scandals involving Lords and Ladies of the great Houses and giggling about it, were already her everyday song. She had to admit, they were not so bad, at least they were a distraction from her homesickness, even if she didn’t share their interests in knights and dresses and was thinking of riding most of the time.

“What do you think, Princess?” one of them giggled, Jeyne, and the other three were expectant at her response, with curious eyes scrutinizing her and parted mouths.

She tried to remember the last thing she heard them giggle about before she started focusing on the delicious lemon cake she had between her fingers, but it was useless, she was too concentrated on the lemon taste and the sun and the overwhelming heat. “About what?” she finally gave up, abandoning any other effort in remembering what they were talking about, and Jeyne sighed in defeat.

“About Lady Cersei” she began with amusement once again “It is said she was practically already dreaming of herself, here in the Red Keep” 

Lady Cersei Lannister? Oh, she remembered her quite well. What a beautiful lady she was, with her golden cascade falling on her back, her ivory skin, that perfectly shaped figure and her amazing emerald-green eyes shining with lust upon Rhaegar. 

“She… Wanted to be here?” Lyanna asked, still confused with the subject of their amusement.

“She wanted to _be_ _you_ , Princess” Jeyne told her with exaggerated indignation in her square shaped face.

“No” Arthur Dayne’s sister spoke then “She wanted to have your titles and be the prince’s wife. She loves herself too much to want to be somebody else” Ashara Dayne clarified mockingly, lifting an eyebrow and supporting her chin on her fist, with her mystic lilac eyes upon Lyanna. Oh, Ashara was one of her favorites, no doubt.

And then… She remembered the eyes of the proud lioness of Casterly Rock in the night of her wedding feast, fixed intensely on her husband, walking among people like she was better than anyone else, with her chin up high and her golden curls bouncing at her pace, her body sticking exceedingly close to Rhaegar's when dancing, and that smug smirk on her pink lips after she spoke to him. Oh, Cersei Lannister’s intentions were as clear as her emerald eyes. 

She wondered if her husband liked her as well. At least if he did, it didn’t show. She was a beautiful lady, indeed, any man would drool over her. If that was the case, he should’ve thought twice before marrying her, because she would never allow him to stick his cock in another woman, even if she wasn’t going to sleep with him either… She would never accept such humiliation, and being the jest of the court because of an unfaithful husband who couldn’t keep his cock in his breeches. Ever. Even if the idea of the Lannister Lady satisfying her husband's carnal desires didn't seem such a bad idea, she just wouldn't take the humiliation. 

“Just imagine Lady Cersei’s face, all reddened in frustration when she found out about our Princess” Jeyne chuckled mischievously, and bit a lemon cake. Lyanna’s lips’ corners curled up against her will at the image that formed in her mind. Lyanna had to admit that seeing the upset expression of the smug lioness when she found out she would no longer have the chance to be the future Queen of Westeros must have been fun to watch. After all, she seemed like the typical vain, ambitious high-born lady of a Great House. Oh, she had met those before.

A little chuckle escaped her along with the others, and the gardens of the Red Keep were suddenly filled with their laughter. She was sure anyone who passed by would hear them. She only hoped nobody heard the reason of their fun, she didn't want to turn the Lady Lannister into a walking jest in the Red Keep. No that she was there anyway, she was probably far away on her golden rock.  

Her musical laughter stopped when her eyes traveled to another section of the gardens and saw _him_. 

Her beautiful husband was coming in their direction, his silvery blond hair, shining intensely under the hot sun was tied up in a bunch, leaving his face clear except for a few rebel locks falling on the sides. The black tunic he was wearing was shaping his hard body in an elegant manner, his valyrian steel sword moving along with him, hanging from his belt as he walked in their direction in all his regal glory. 

Her ladies looked at each other with complicity, and more giggles escaped their mouths shamelessly. 

When he climbed the stairs to where their table was set, the girls around her had such hussies smiles directed at her that she wanted to smack each one of them on the face, except for Lady Dayne, the only one who wouldn’t bother her with such stupid behavior. It made her feel inexplicably uncomfortable every time they did that when Rhaegar was around. Those silly girls. 

“My ladies” he greeted respectfully and they made little reverences to their prince, with those ridiculous smiles still on their faces. “Princess… Could you come with me, please?” he spoke softly, offering her one of big hands with courtesy.

It took her a few seconds to take it, she desperately wanted to ask him what in his' stupid Gods' seven hells he wanted that required her presence. Instead, she reluctantly put her hand in his’, clenching her teeth tight at the sight of his pleased expression and the hussy looks of the ladies. 

With firm steps, she walked off with him. She could feel her brows frowning when she saw where they were going. _Maegor’s Holdfast._ Why was he taking her there? What did he want anyway? 

They stood in front of his bedchamber, and her fists clenched. That place made her nervous. 

“What do _you_ want?” she hissed with burning eyes when he opened one of the doors of those chambers she only saw once, a month ago. “Why the _fuck_ did you even bring me here?" she sounded rough and surly, her manners were long gone when she looked at those chambers in distrust "Ugh… Don’t even think about-…”

“Shhh” he tried to calm her, making gestures with his hands. It only pissed her off even more. She was no horse for him to shush her like that. 

To her dislike, he grabbed her hand softly, guiding her inside the chambers, but she snapped her hand out of his’ roughly when he gave the first step forward, walking in without his guidance. It was just as she remembered, but in the bright light of the day and without the heavy feeling of a ‘wedding night’ upon her, it seemed less threatening, and with the breeze of the sea swirling her wavy hair playfully, it even seemed nice.

There were many papers on the desk, along with melted candles and a little vessel with dark ink in it. The red divan Rhaegar slept on on their wedding night, was near a window now, with a beautiful golden harp resting in it. Did he play the harp? 

“Here” his voice made her eyes go to where he was standing straight, next to the bed, biting his lower lip in a grin, and with his arms crossed upon his chest. A big ebony box, carved with direwolfs motifs and white gold details in it rested on the mattress. 

She approached him hesitantly, without taking her eyes off of the box. It was beautiful, and she wondered what was hiding inside. “This is for you” he said, and she gazed at him for a fraction of second with wariness. Upon his lips, what she could tell was a warm smile began to form, and for some reason, it made him look ethereal in her eyes. “It’s my wedding gift for you” he claimed, and expectancy was gleaming on his indigo gems.

A wedding gift? She didn’t even know she had to give him one, and even if she knew, she would not give  _him_ a present. _Ever._ And even if she wanted to, she was not good at picking presents for others, much less for a Prince that probably already had everything he wanted. 

She looked at it, and then at him again, looking for approval. He nodded at her permissively, and she bended towards the bed, feeling her corset tightening around her waist with the movement she made. Her hands went to the box and lifted the top carefully with the tips of her fingers. 

On the inside, the wooden box was upholstered with a dark blue velvet the color of the ocean, and she removed the pearl white silk that was covering the content protectively with its softness. 

Her mouth parted involuntarily as she saw what was underneath the pearly colored silk. Lying on the blue velvet, there was a beautiful dark ebony bow and arrows of the same material, the curvatures of the bow were smooth and elegant, it had a ring of white gold wrapped around it in the middle of the wood, the weapon, shining lustrous before her, was amazingly beautiful. On the ends of the bow, the dire wolf, the sigil of her house, was carved in the dark wood with such detail she wondered how much time could it take to have such a detailed job done. 

“I thought you wouldn’t want jewelry or anything like that, so i-..”

“It’s perfect” she rushed to say before he could continue, still admiring the weapon and taking it into her hands with parsimony. It fitted her perfectly.

Did he remember what she told him the first time they spoke to each other, back in the courtyard of Winterfell? She did remember she bragged about her poor abilities with the sword, and how she liked to fight, and how she wasn't allowed to practice. But, she didn't remember telling him anything about archery. Did he just guessed because of her liking for weapons and fight, or...?  

"How did you know that-?" the question emerged from her all of the sudden, but he answered before she could even end her question "I have my methods" he said, and his mid smirk was on his lips again, his arms still crossed upon his chest and his amethyst eyes shining proudly on her. 

Oh, but it didn't matter, even if it would normally irritate her to be left with the doubt, this time she was too happy to be stressed about that.

How she missed her archery practices in Winterfell, she couldn’t even bring her own bow to court because her father didn’t allow her, saying she should behave at the height of her future title in the capital and that he wouldn’t let her take anything that could encourage her wild manners. But her old bow could never compare to this one, the one she had in her hands in that moment was beyond any other she ever saw.  

The prince next to her looked like he was _truly_ enjoying her reaction, her stormy greyish eyes went to him and then to the floor, still holding the bow in her hands, and feeling her cheeks blushing against her will at her thoughts. She wasn't too good at swallowing her pride and thanking people she was supposed to despise after all. Maybe he wasn’t that bad. At least he gave her the perfect gift for her. “T…Thank you” she stuttered when the words came out of her mouth.

It was hard to thank him for anything, it was hard to say anything nice to him actually. It was like thanking her captor and the reason of her disgrace. But she misjudged him when he took her to Maegor’s, just like she did on their wedding night. It was the least she could do.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, his stunning eyes matching his smile, and it made her feel strangely uncomfortable to feel so observed by him “Finally i can please you with something” he jested. Was it flirty? She didn’t know, it certainly confused her for a moment, but she only lifted one eyebrow in annoyance. “Oh… There’s something else i must tell you” he added suddenly, ignoring her gesture. His mid-grin was gone along with his ‘flirty’ air, and a more serious one took over him.

“What?” she inquired in a less aggressive manner than before, but with the same wariness. What else could there be? 

“The king had announced there will be a tourney at Harrenhal to celebrate the royal wedding” and as he started, her eyebrows seemed to be more and more creased down into a sour expression. Another stupid celebration the stupid King asked for. Why did everyone had to please that old crazy man? Of course, because he was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but still... “Your brothers and father will attend” his words carried the most authentic contentment and his expression was enjoyable, as if he knew the news would lift her spirit up just like they did.

Her brothers and her father. Bran, Ben, Ned and her father. Her family, her little piece of Winterfell. And if not all of them, because ‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell’, -she quoted her father’s words in her head- at least three of them would assist, and she would be with them again.

Her pink lips curved into a smile instantly, she gasped a big bunch of air in excitement, her heart stopped for a second only to beat even faster later. She never expected to see her family again so soon after her marriage, but apparently, her Old Gods had listened to her plagiaries even from that dragon’s red cage, and granted her her deepest wish. 

A little shriek escaped her excitedly, she was suddenly jumping on the tip of her feet like a little child, making her soft wavy hair bounce on her face under the amused gaze of her silver husband. Her arms surrounded the Prince’s neck all of the sudden in one of her jumps, reaching his height that way, and her eyes were tightly shut, the smile still on her pale face.

He seemed as surprised as she was when it all happened, in less than a second, his chest stood still without breathing and a few seconds later, when she felt his hand on her back and the air going into his lungs again, she realized what she was doing. "I'm glad to finally see you happy" his velvety voice sounded in the crook of her neck, and goosebumps invaded her skin in that fragment of second. His scent took over her senses, white wood and mint again, and her face was burning red now.

She un-hanged herself from him and pulled apart, ashamed, avoiding his eyes and biting her lower lip so hard it hurt, but she could feel his stare down on her and she didn’t dare to confront his gaze. What was she thinking? 

“I… Uhmm…” the words were faltering on her mouth and she just kept throwing them to the air as soon as they appeared on her messy mind “Just… Thank you, Rhaegar” she sounded calmed and shy and nice… And for the first time, his name didn’t sound like it was being spat out of her mouth like dirt, but like a soft whisper passing through her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... Harrenhal next, guys! :)
> 
> I'm not sure how to write that part, i'm pretty sure i will have to make at least two Harrenhal chapters.


	10. A Dornish Princess and a Crannogman

The sun was bright in the blue sky, his onyx black armor was shining under it, with those blood red rubies in his chest in the figure of the three headed dragon, the sigil of his house, that matched the red cloak behind him. The wide black shoulder plates contrasted strongly with the silvery blond hair that was falling upon them in a cascade.

Rhaegar felt a few sweat drops forming in his forehead as a result of his last duel, his hair was sticking to his face and neck insistently, even after he removed his helmet, thanks to the salad liquid soaking his skin after the jousts of the day. Not one lost.

“You did well today, Your Highness. Ser Gerold has three and ten golden dragons on you to win the tourney, I’m sure he’s feeling very secure right now” Oswell Whent laughed when Rhaegar passed the reins of his black stallion to a squire, the boy grabbed them warily, looking at the huge animal with respect and taking him away. 

“The real jousts begin tomorrow, my friend. I hope Ser Gerold does not end up losing his golden dragons”. He pushed his wet hair back roughly with one hand, while chuckling softly. He felt the adrenaline and excitement of the last joust were still running through his hot blooded veins, and he wished he could keep jousting that day, it entertained him, and helped him release all of the tension piled inside.

“It seems you have plenty of admirers, Prince Rhaegar” the golden knight pointed out to him with a grin, a group of ladies were passing near them, all together, like a flock of birds at the entrance of the stables, giggling and staring mischievously at their direction. Could they be any more obvious? A chuckle escaped him at the sight of them. It still surprised him how silly some girls acted around knights and princes. Immediately, a pair of greyish hazel orbs were painted in his mind, with vivid winter colors, stunning and fierce as he knew they were. He would never be able to imagine his wife, Lyanna, in such a situation, chasing after a knight with a bunch of ladies, giggling at the simple sight of a man and bating her lashes in the most feminine manner only to caught his attention.

No. She was too different from them. From everyone he ever met.  

“Princess Lyanna would scare them all away with just one of her fierce stares” the knight laughed pertly at the vivid image of it. Apparently, Rhaegar was not the only one who thought of her.

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to be caught by his friend’s contagious peals of laughter, not exactly because of the same reasons, but because of a mix of them: the image he created in his head of the idea Ser Oswell threw: of Lyanna scaring some ladies away, and... Of how people actually believed the Princess gave a single fuck about him or about their marriage.   

How could people be so blind? They never shared a single look, they never held hands, they barely even spoke. People was probably not blind, but accustomed to the sight of loveless, arranged marriages.

“She would throw one of those girls gladly at me, Oswell” he said jokingly, but that little voice inside him told him he was not so wrong. The beautiful she wolf would probably give her position as his wife and princess of the Seven Kingdoms to any other lady if she only could. That was no secret to him. 

Oswell stopped laughing the moment he said it, it was probably because it seemed like a very pathetic thing to be married to a woman who wanted you a thousands miles away from her. At least since the day he told her about the tourney, and gave her the gift he had for her, her grumpiness softened considerably towards him and now they could even share the same air without him receiving one of her stunningly beautiful, but hateful gazes. It was an improvement, at least. 

“Rhaegar… ” Oswell began with certain doubt of what to say or ask next, calling him by his name and not his royal titles, like he did only when they were in the middle of one of those confident talks as good friends and not as a Kingsguard and a Crown Prince.  

Truth was, he never thought he would find himself in such a fucked up marriage, and even if they ever could manage to get along just fine, he highly doubted they could ever achieve something more than that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he found her beautiful and wild and captivating, he _did_ like her… But her fierce spirit raged out of her only to push him away every time he was near, or trying to be nice to her. He certainly didn’t like the way she felt towards him. She felt… Repulsed by him? And he didn't even know why it made him feel so sick.

 _Maybe i should…_ And the idea was there all of the sudden, like a raged storm thunder, lighting the darkness in his head to show him a pair of fierce, greyish hazel orbs. 

_Give her back to her family._

Give her back to her family after he was named King of the Seven Kingdoms if things didn’t improve between them, seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t know if Lord Rickard Stark would take it as an offense to his House, it was not the intention, but what could he do if that girl was repulsed him? He could easily annul the marriage, it wasn’t even consummated. He would never force himself in her to have heirs and he doubted she would ever want to do _that_  with him. He would not bind her to a life she didn’t want, that she hated and that would only wither her wild spirit. He would never do something like that to her. If the Warden of the North felt offended, he would offer him any other deal he wished, other alliances, power, anything. But he would not make Lyanna Stark a miserable woman for the rest of her life. She was too different, too wild to be tied somewhere she didn't want to be. 

The idea made his stomach feel heavy, but it seemed only fair to Lyanna Stark.

“She’ll be fine, Oswell… I’ll make sure, if everything goes well…” it was a soft mutter that was almost inaudible, but Oswell heard it.

When the golden knight parted his lips to say something in response, the sound of light steps on the stone stopped him and made both of them turn to the 'intruder' at the exact same moment. 

A slender figure was walking towards them.

Her copper colored skin and her deep dark orbs made him recognize her almost instantly, her face was too familiar, along with those foreign dornish traits of hers. She was tall, dark and so thin her ribs were visible through the olive-green dornish dress’ openings at the sides. She moved like a cat, incredibly fluid and gracious even in the irregular floor of the stables. Elia Martell. What was she doing there anyway?

He had no idea what a woman like her was doing at the stables, but there she was, standing in front of them with that strange, exotic air all dornish seemed to have. 

“Princess Elia” he greeted courteously, naming her by the title the dornish fought so fiercely to protect and keep from his own House. Ser Oswell did the same. She offered a bony hand and he took it gently, depositing a barely there kiss in it. Her skin smelled like roses, and it felt soft and warm. 

“My Prince. You jousted fiercely today. Congratulations on your victories” she purred in a low tone, with her dark eyes fixed intensely on him, her familiar accent was marked deep in her voice. She reminded him too much of her brother, Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper. Same mysterious eyes, same tanned skin, same soft purring. They were too alike. 

“Thank you, Princess Elia. Luck was by my side today, I dare say” 

A gentle chuckle escaped her and two dimples were carved on the sides of her smiling, thin lips, adorning her square shaped face, he noted. “Would you like to accompany me in a walk around the yard, Your Highness?” she asked gently “Just you and me?” she added boldly, and Rhaegar understood what she meant, even if he didn't understand why. Oswell. Her teeth were plunged softly in her lower lip after she finished the question, her dark eyes were expectant. Elia Martell sure honored the dornish’s reputation, it was said that flirtation ran strongly in their veins, and she was definitely not an exception. 

Rhaegar turned to Oswell, sending him a look that the knight understood perfectly, and gave him a small nod in acknowledgment.

Elia looked pleased at the gesture.

He remembered little of her from a trip to Dorne a few years ago, maybe because she barely even spoke back then, her eyes were always avoiding him and her tanned cheeks were always reddening for the most random things or gestures. Now, there she was, with a bold stare and a confident cat-walk. Years _did_ change Elia Martell, that was for sure. “Of course, Princess Elia” he responded, offering her his arm.

In a fluid movement, one of her slim arms was already wrapped around his armored one, and her copper colored body was a little bit too close to him, more than necessary, he observed at some point. 

Her rose scent became stronger with the proximity, she was standing straight, with her chin up and her thin lips curled up, her walk began slow and rhythmical next to him, he could feel her hips balancing along with the silks of her dress next to him, and subtly touching his armor every so often. Was she doing it on purpose? 

“I’ve heard your wife, Princess Lyanna, is a stunning beauty, My Prince” the copper Princess mentioned without looking at him, the smile still on her face.

“She is” he admitted, remembering the details on his wife’s fair face, the color of her eyes, her thick dark lashes, her full pink lips, her slender figure. All of that with her signature wildness and a mood from the seven hells, that sometimes, was absolutely _unbearable_. He smirked.  _Lyanna._

Elia raised her eyebrows, her sight was still on some point in the crowded yard. “It’s a good thing the wife does not distune with the husband” 

He felt her heavy onyx stare on him, even if his eyes were focused on anything else in that yard but her, he could feel it. “I’m afraid you are being too kind to me, Princess Elia” he rejected politely the flattery she was giving him. 

“But i’m not. Every woman in the realm is jealous of your wife…" she lowered her eyes only to rise them up to him moments later "Even a dornish one… My Prince.” she purred suggestively. 

That glimpse of flirtation was no longer a glimpse, but a painfully obvious attempt of...  _something_. 

Elia Martell was a beautiful woman, her attractiveness was undeniable, with her exotic looks and the way she moved, her charms were visible, but for some reason… Nothing. Not even a small spark of attraction towards her. He wouldn’t dishonor his new wife in any way, not even if their marriage was going to end soon enough, he wouldn't humiliate her like that. 

“I don’t believe so, Princess” he smiled gently, truth was, there was nothing else he wanted to say to her. What else could he say after she out him in such an awkward position? What did she expect him to do? He certainly was not going to follow her lead, he couldn't do such a thing.

They stopped in front of the castle’s doors, her arm unwrapped from his’ and she put herself in front of him, her dark gems staring up at him with a lustful spark in them, and he heard her humming softly in a low tone. 

She got closer to him, _almost_ _inappropriately_ close, and all of the sudden, he felt oddly uncomfortable with such closeness and her boldness. Apparently, the Princess of Dorne didn’t care that there were hundreds of people wandering around them and aching for juicy gossip like the one she was going to create if she continued to stick herself to him like that. Irritation was slowly rising up in him, along with the urge to pull her away to a more appropriate distance. _If i do that... T_ _hat would be rude._

Elia stood on her tiptoes to try to reach his ear, despite being a tall woman, both her hands were resting on his armored shoulders, pulling involuntarily a few strands of his hair between her fingers, and her face was on the side of his’, near his ear.

“Oh… But… You should, My Prince. _Believe_ _me._ ” he felt her hot breath on his skin and his brows furrowed slightly. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Without much effort, she got rid of her ladies-in-waiting and other curious women that were starving for a little royal gossip, if one more of those air headed girls asked her one more time for details of her wedding or what it felt like to be a princess and have such a handsome husband, she would lit herself on fire with Aerys’ wildfire. 

The yard was crowded and adorned with tents of all sizes and colors, banners of all Great Houses of Westeros coloring the picture in front of her with the colors of a blooming, spring garden, men in their armors, holding their swords and shields, getting ready for the jousts and melees, and ladies in their colorful dresses were floating around them like bees haunting flowers. 

Everyone was in there, except for the ones she was looking for. Her brothers. If only she escaped earlier from her ladies-in-waiting, she would’ve probably found Brandon, Benjen and Ned sooner. 

With a hurried pace, she made her way between the people, open-eyed to any glimpse of a golden armor wandering around, after all, escaping from Ser Gerold was no easy, the knight was probably going crazy trying to find her, or maybe he was still expecting her to show up where she begged him to wait ‘for just a minute’ because she had ‘lady’s needs’. Poor knight. But she needed to stop feeling like she had another shadow besides her own, at least for half an hour.

A flash of white called her attention between all of the people, a white cloak. She rushed as fast as her legs and that tricky dress of hers allowed her to the only place she knew she would not be found easily. The Godswood of Harrenhal. 

Surely more than one recognized her in her hurried rush to get to the Godswood, but even if Ser Gerold found her, it would take him a while to do it, and she wanted to enjoy every single moment of ‘freedom’.

She looked around and red leafs and white wood was all she could see once she entered the woods, the view was similar to Winterfell’s Godswood, but the trees around her were smaller, still, the mystic ambience was there with every blow of the wind and the sound of the leafs moving against each other softly. It was so silent and so peaceful, specially compared to that crowded tourney and those loud ladies she was running from. It almost felt like home. _Almost._  

She leaned her back on a tree, resting her body against the wood, her chest was going up and down in a choppy pace, running in that tight corset under her dress was hell, for sure. When she looked down, the hems of her sky-blue skirts were splashed with mud, her boots sank in it as well while running, so she didn’t even need to see them to know they were probably disgusting. What would the royals say if they saw here like that? Viserys would probably join her in the mud. A smile crossed her face when she thought of the little Targaryen prince, how she wished Rhaella and Viserys were there. If it wasn’t for Aerys… 

Suddenly, a loud cry made her jump. She wasn’t sure where it came from, but again, the same cry, but this time, accompanied by several laughters. Her heart was racing, something was going on, somebody was being hurt. 

Without thinking it twice and with determination, she followed the sound, trying carefully not to make any noise and discover what was happening in those woods, after all, she was Lyanna Stark and she was no coward to just run away. But also, she was probably not being the smartest. For a second, she thought of going back to the yard of Harrenhall and find Ser Gerold to help her, but it would be convenient to find the place where the sound came from first so she wouldn’t lost them. 

The laughters were louder and louder, and between the thick white tree trunks, three standing figures appeared. Her eyes widened upon the disgusting scene displayed in front of her. Three boys, apparently three squires of three different Houses, judging by their clothing, were standing around another muddy boy curled on the grass with a pained expression. It was one of her father’s bannermen -she recognized the sigil he had-, moaning loudly with every kick he received from those cruel-faced beasts that were mocking at him in the most despicable way. “I thought Crannogmen were good at fighting. What a useless piece of shit this one is” the fat one shouted mockingly and the other two laughed loudly. 

Her wolf-blood did not disappoint, and in less than a second, she stepped forward with clenched fists and stone-firm steps.

“Hey, you dumb beasts! That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!” she roared fiercely and the three boys turned to her with angry faces that became frightened ones in a matter of seconds. Why? She didn’t even identified herself yet. What was going on? It looked like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Y-Your Highness…” one of them began, his face full of red pimples paled as soon as he spoke. _My crown_ she quickly recalled the golden circlet on her head when she spotted the boys’ eyes on her head, on the crown everyone insisted over and over and over on her to use on the tourney. It certainly made the situation much easier in that moment.

“Please, forgive us Your Highness, we didn’t-“

“You idiots! It’s not even me you should apologize to, it’s him!” she pointed to the boy still curled on the ground.

The three squires rushed to the fallen boy and asked for forgiveness in the most pathetic manner she ever saw, stuttering nervously at him. The boy had his eyes wide as eggs and seemed so confused that his mouth was parted forming a silent “O”. 

“Leave! Now!” she roared once more, the sole sight of them was making her feel like she was going to explode in ire. The squires paled immediately and ran clumsily until they disappeared between the trees, one of them even fell on his face only to get up again and keep running. 

The boy in front of her was a mess, muddy from the tip of his toes to the last one of his black locks of hair, his green eyes filled with wariness and fear, he bowed down in a reverence as soon as he saw her and his voice was trembling when he spoke.

“Your Highness… Thank you so much, i owe you-“ 

“Jusr rise” she interrupted him informally “You’re a Crannogman, right?” 

Crannogmen were from the North, from Greywater Watch to be exact, and if she was not mistaken, they defended the Neck. 

He was staring at her in surprise, he was speechless, apparenlty, and she could perfectly understand why. Everyone seemed to be intimidated by her lately, or by her crown, more likely. He stood up slowly, his hands were steady and the mud was sliding down in one side of his face.

“Come, we shall take you to a maester” she sighed while looking at the sight of the poor boy in front of her, he looked too embarrased, with mud and blood and cuts all over. 

If there was something she hated most than anything, was injustice. It made her sick with rage, she wished she had that gorgeous bow of hers right there only to shoot a few arrows to those pricks’ asses.

What kind of coward would hit a single man with the help of two other? It disgusted her, such a low act and the pride on their faces while doing it, as if they just won a just combat. There was no honor in their fight, in fact, they had no honor at all. Somebody would have to teach them.

 


	11. The Dancing Mystery Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be told exclusively from Lyanna's POV. And the next one will be told by Rhaegar's. Enjoy!

High from her place of honor, she could see everyone in the great hall of Harrenhall, including her beloved wolf pack. Two of her three brothers were drinking and jesting and laughing at each other. Brandon was missing, and only the Old Gods knew where he was at that time _and_ with whom, but a new face joined them. The boy she saved in the morning from three coward squires. Howland’s face had a few stitches the maester soiled on him to close a grotesque open wound above his eyebrow, now it looked red, swollen and painful, but he didn’t seem to care. He was enjoying the night with the Stark wolf pack as if he was one of them. Apparently, the young Reed boy was getting along perfectly fine with her brothers since she introduced him to them that morning while looking for a maester, specially with Ned. He reminded her of Ned in some ways, but also to Ben, so it was likely that they would get along. As soon as she could, she was definitely going to join them.

At her right, she looked at her husband and Rhaegar’s face was made of marble, or at least it always looked that way when he was close to King Aerys. His usually relaxed and kind mien was replaced by slightly furrowed brows, hard stare and a clenched chin that was almost unnoticeable to everyone but for her. Being close to King Aerys was bloodcurdling, and not even the ‘lovely’ Targaryen prince was immune to it judging by his looks.

She spent several minutes only staring at him, staring longer than she wished in fact, but it was useless. There was something about him that made him too pleasant to look at, hypnotizing even. Those perfectly balanced valyrian features maybe, how perfectly they were sculpt… She wasn’t sure. All she knew was what that those beautiful valyrian features showed her, that Rhaegar was tensed as a bowstring in that moment. 

Aerys, on the other side, was running his freezing cold stare all around the hall, Varys The Spider next to him. The eunuch was murmuring something in his ear with sneaky eyes and she could imagine his meandering voice whispering to the king. Was that why Rhaegar looked so upset? She didn’t know, but unlike Rhaegar, Aerys was not too pleasant to look at, with that mad smirk on his twisted face and those eyes… It scared her to think that he would turn those pale lilac eyes full of malice to her one of those days. She thanked the Gods the king hasn’t requested her presence to witness his awful trials at court yet, Rhaegar, poor Rhaella and even little Viserys sometimes didn’t have the same luck. She begged the day he asked for her presence there never came to her. 

Her silver husband looked like a marble statue next to her, he sure looked tense, distressed, his full lips were pressed hard against each other forming a thin line on his face. 

“How are you enjoying _our_ tourney, _husband_?” she suddenly caught herself delivering those lines to him in the form of mockery and jesting. Was she trying to distract him? Where did that came from?

He turned to her, and his once hard eyes softened instantly when they landed on her, a deep purple sea drawn her for a few seconds, she felt her lips parting but she quickly recovered from that limbo. “You know, you looked like you were being painfully pinched under the table” she mocked, and he looked as amused as he looked startled. It was probably the first interaction she ever started after all, or at least the first ‘friendly’ one.

“Is it so obvious?” he asked, supporting his chin on his fist while looking at her. He was admitting that he was perturbed by his own father. 

“Not really.” she said, pouting her lips for a moment “Only if i look carefully i can see your oh-so-painful expression”  she added mockingly again.

“So, you have been observing me?” he teased with an amused smile lightning his face and a lifted eyebrow. The tension was definitely left behind.

She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks like a strong river torrent in her, even if he was joking, she felt so, so, _so_ caught it made her feel sick with shame. She put herself right in the mouth of the lion with that careless confession. Or better said, the dragon's mouth.

She rolled her eyes at him, trying hardly to ignore the intense blush she knew was there, and hoping he ignored it too, but surely that damned pale skin of hers that was so much like a blank canvas waiting to be painted by her feelings betrayed her as usual. Why did she had to be so pale and blush so easily for stupid things? _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“Oh please… You wish” she said with a faked secure voice, and she felt even more ashamed when thinking that he was right, she _had_ been observing him for longer than he thought and for longer than she wished. The thought definitely did not help to her desperate burning cheeks to cool down and he seemed to notice, visibly containing a smile.

But his smile died before it could even be born.

She heard Aerys grumble next to him at something Varys murmured on his ear, his face was twisted in a strange grim that only made him look scarier than he usually looked, his eyes were fixed on something between the Lannister's and Tyrell's spots, but she could't tell what was it. Judging by Rhaegar’s sudden expression, he did hear him too. 

The king’s bony hands were clenched in tight fists upon the table, his long nails that looked like claws were bended against the flesh of his hands, and some of them parted with the pressure of sinking in his wrinkled pale skin. She wondered what did the eunuch whisper to him that angered him so much. 

Her heart skipped a beat and her blood froze still on her veins when Aerys turned his head towards Rhaegar and her, those eyes in the tone of a faded dead purple stood in his son's neutral face for a while, transmitting anything else but paternal love for him. A few seconds later, they were fixed on her, his stare felt too heavy and her chest started to go up and down a little bit faster, waiting for something to happen, something bad.

“Want to dance, Princess?” Rhaegar's voice broke the frightening freezing spell Aerys put on her and she detoured her eyes to him, his beautiful indigo orbs that were so different from his father’s were wary on her, warning her not to react in any way that the king might consider offensive, as in the way she would usually react. 

She hesitated, not because she didn’t want to get up and run away from those seats as soon as possible, but because it took her a while to understand what was happening. In that moment, she could even hug the Dragon Prince in gratitude. Anything seemed better than to be under the murky stare of King Aerys. Even dancing. With her husband.

She took his hand and when she stood next to him, she felt several stares on them as they descended the stairs, but if normally that would annoy her, now she couldn't care less because she was finally getting away from that nutcase King that froze her blood in fear with one simple stare. She finally could say she was scared of something in that world. 

The mixed sounds of the instruments being played skillfully by the musicians created the beautiful melody that sounded in the hall, hundreds of couples were dancing slowly and gracefully at its pace, she could see them swirling around the hall so well synchronized to one another that she wanted to laugh at her own poor dancing abilities. The Dragon Prince would sure end that piece with hurt trodden feet.

Rhaegar wrapped his arm around her tiny waist gently, pulling her body closer to his' and she put her hand on his shoulder, she could feel his stare down on her, but looking straight as she was looking, all she could see was his hard chest covered by the black velvet doublet with golden buttons he was wearing. She didn’t want to lift her head up to him, having his face so close to hers felt still awkward, but the very enjoyable scent of him was already intoxicating her senses. Just like in their wedding feast.

“Are you okay?” she felt him getting his head down to her ear, and his soft velvety voice sounded so, so low on the crook of her neck. 

“Why wouldn’t i?” she answered with another question, the strands of silvery blond hair tickled her nose and she wondered if her face was showing her inner fight against the impulse of sinking her own face on his chest and hair and get lost in that mix of white wood and mint that was besotting her so much. 

“I just recall you being extremely uncomfortable the last time we danced” he said simply, his steps were fluid and balanced and she felt like a clumsy child next to him.

The last time they danced, it was at their wedding feast. She still remembered the feeling she had that night, when she felt the white wood and mint smell on his clothes, when she couldn’t stand being close to him because she thought she would explode of ire. She felt so trapped in his arms, like a caged wolf. She remembered her desperation thinking of what would happen to her that night, her hate rising dangerously towards him and his royal father, she even told him that she hated all of it while dancing. 

“Yes… I kind of hated you” she affirmed, noting that this time, she didn’t feel trapped nor hate towards him. She just didn’t feel anything. 

“Kind of?” he mocked.

She finally lifted her eyes to him, in an involuntary reflex, hazel smoke clashed against lilac amethyst and she couldn’t help but to get lost for a moment in those dark mysterious purple pools.

“Fine.” she surrendered  “I hated you with all the strength of my soul” she admitted dryly, it was no secret anyway.

His smile was the lift of a single corner of his mouth. Why was he smiling? “So, you _hated_ me…  You don’t anymore?” he raised his brows high, amused expectancy all over his face.

Her eyes widened slightly, she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She didn’t even know what to answer. Deep down, she knew perfectly well that she didn’t hate him anymore, he wasn’t as bad as she thought he would be so far. 

He treated her kindly and respected her, and considering he could just choose not to, it spoke highly of him. Her mind explored another forgotten and -thank the Gods- discarded possibility. A stag came to her head quickly. If things went as they were originally planned, she would’ve married Robert, and she would have been thrusted with his cock before she even had the time to take her wedding dress off, already pregnant with triplets and she would have to deal with the humiliation of a drunkard whoremonger husband. Looking at Robert at that moment was a good reminder of it, seating next to her brothers, with a goblet of wine, laughing as loudly as he could as he ran his lustful blue eyes upon a servant girl with a very, _very_ low cleavage that showed her big… _attributes_. The stag looked like he was actually a lion about to attack his prey.

Rhaegar didn’t strike to her like that kind of man, they were as different as day and night. Despite the almost magical ability he had to attract the opposite sex -and even the same sex, come to think about it- he never showed to be one for whoremonging. A rare quality for a man, a Prince, in fact, that could have whoever and whatever he wanted with only a flick of his fingers.

“Lyanna?” he sought her attention with a little concern, taking her out of her own cavils with his raspy voice.

“W-What?”  she jumped, almost tripping when her ankles crossed to move along with the melody and Rhaegar in a clumsy shift, but he realized soon enough and kept her from tripping with a tight grip on her waist. All of her previous thoughts dispersed in the air like dust in the wind and her heart accelerated a little from the misstep. Then, recalling what he asked her before, she composed herself. _Oh, right…_ “No. But… I don’t particularly like you either, so don’t even think about getting your hopes up high. But i don’t hate you” she grinned in a playful manner he seemed to get.

“Well, that’s an improvement. At least now i know you won’t kill me in my sleep” he joked.

“Don’t be so sure. So don’t get me mad” she threatened playfully and he showed those perfectly white pearled teeth in a charming smile. “As my lady commands” he faked a serious face later.

“It’s ‘Princess’ now. Your forgot, _dear_ husband?” she corrected him making a fun grim and biting her tongue out, her nose wrinkled at the gesture and her eyes going up to show him the way to the crown upon her head. 

She didn’t know how, but they both ended up laughing vividly like a pair of children while dancing, their contagious chuckles were blending in the air together and for the first time, she didn’t feel a heavy weight when around him.

“My mistake, _Princess”_   he jested again, seemingly enjoying those silly faces she made.

It felt so odd to get to see him laugh thus. Most of the time, he carried a melancholic gaze that just didn’t fit him. It just couldn’t fit.

“All eyes are on us.” she observed suddenly, when she realized with a quick look around that their mirth attracted nosey attention to them “How do you do it?” Lyanna finally asked. How could it be that people were so pendant all the time? Rhaegar didn’t seem to care at all, he didn’t even noticed.

“Well…” he turned swiftly to look around, his silvery blond tresses moving gracefully, and then turned to her again “After twenty one years of living this way, i guess you just get used to it. You should just ignore them like i do. Is not like they matter anyway” he said with a neutral tone.

If her first weeks in King’s Landing were hell to her, feeling so constantly observed by everyone, as if she was on trial for something, she couldn’t imagine what a pain in the ass could growing up with those judgmental lords and ladies could be. 

But there he was, he seemed to never fail at anything or to never screw things up, everything about him screamed ‘perfection’ so much that it bothered her sometimes. Was that the result of living constantly watched and being raised as a Crown Prince? Or he was born that way? He always looked so natural... She remembered herself as a little girl and in her earlier years before she turned six-and-ten, always getting in trouble with those wild manners of hers. She was definitely not the most talented at music, nor at dancing and much less at soiling, and on top of that, she had the clumsiness of a five year old. She was not talented at being a lady, in fact. What would it feel like to be raised as a Crown Princess? 

She could only thank the Old Gods she wasn't born a royal Targaryen, she would probably be the disgrace of her House in elegance and grace if put next to Rhaella or Rhaegar. 

She certainly was a Princess now, but only by title, a Princess that just happened to be one, a Princess that didn’t seem to fit in that place. And much less next to Rhaegar Targaryen.

 

* * *

 

 

The mismatched armor Howland presented to her was tousled, that was for sure, the steel had lost its shine, even under the bright sun of Harrenhall, with scratches all over it, it was obviously a way-too-old  armor. The good thing was, it seemed perfect for her small size, it would fit her perfectly, it must have been a young boy’s armor. It looked wasted and cheap, sure, but she asked for one exactly like that. It would avoid suspicions, because if they got a nice expensive armor, everyone would wonder who the knight was and would think he belonged to a Great House. Too suspicious and too close to the truth, it would be an inconvenient, as she told Howland before she sent him to look for it.

The shield caught her eye quickly, it was a strange one, it had a whitewood tree with reddish brown leafs painted on it. It reminded her too much of the trees in the Godswood, it only lacked a face. Maybe she would paint a face on the tree later, it would give it a nice touch, at least it wouldn't be a cheap _and_ dull armor, it would just be a cheap one.

She raised her smoky hazel sight from the shield to him "Now you need to find me a fine horse. Can you do that?" she asked, handing him a small sac filled with coins that Howland took sighing, a few silver dragons were more than enough to buy a good horse. She even thought of riding Rhaegar's, his black stallion was a thing to behold, a mighty beast, indeed. But she shook that ridiculous idea out of her mind as soon as it appeared in the form of a fantasy, it was just absurd, she could just take her helmet off in front of everyone and scream 'Hey! It's Lyanna Stark, i'm the mystery knight!' if she dared ride Blackfyre. In fact, she wouldn't be able to use any of the royal horses for obvious reasons. 

In front of her, Howland had his worried green eyes on her, at first hesitating to say what he wanted to say, but then, he finally did: “Are you sure, Princess? You shouldn’t-“ Howland’s voice sounded once again in a low whisper close to her, too afraid that anyone in that abandoned yard they were hiding in could be hearing their talk. 

“Lyanna” she corrected him once again with hastiness and she rolled her eyes at his visible concern. It was the twentieth time she had to tell him to just call her by her name and stop worrying, she and her brothers already adopted him as a friend, and the formality of her royal title was driving her insane along with the offending incredulity he had on her abilities as a rider. Didn't he know of her reputation in Winterfell?

“Lyanna” he said visibly uncomfortable calling her by her name so informally, his dark thick brows arched down upon his big green eyes in concern “You shouldn’t do this, really, it was nothing” he insisted, trying to convince her once again and failing miserable in his attempt.

It only made her reassure her decision.

“Nothing?!” she threw her arms up in the air in indignation, it was like his very words and the indifference to such a coward act offended her  “I can’t stand injustice, Howland. And you! You shouldn’t either. You belong to the North. You're a proud Crannogman, you _should_ care for honor and fight for it”  she claimed with a confident voice, grabbing the helmet of the old mismatched armor with her small pale hands, trying to stir a dark smudge on the dull steel with one finger.

The boy snorted next to her, dropping his arms helplessly at his sides in defeat. He sure looked startled with her stubbornness, and also concerned and she could understand why.

Having the Targaryen Prince’s wife -and also a highborn lady of the Great House Stark- to defend his honor in a dangerous joust seemed like the perfect infallible way to condemn himself to have his head chopped off before the tourney ends. 

 _It’s a good thing i have a helmet and i won’t be recognized_ she thought with a confident smile on her mouth. Besides, if anything happened, to cover Howland, she would just say she wanted to joust as well but that she had to do it secretly because she was a woman, and women were not allowed to fight. Nobody would dare raise the voice to her anyway, she was the Princess of The Seven Kingdoms. Finally her stupid royal title was being helpful to her.

She was not a bit scared, after all, she was known in Winterfell for riding like a northern man, or even better than them. And if her opponents were going to be the knights of the Houses Haigh, Blount and Frey there would be no problem at all. They were not too skilled nor too strong according to what she saw and heard, she was far better than them. She, Lyanna Stark, would kick their asses in the blink of an eye and restore the Crannogman's honor -a northerner's honor- that their coward squires spitted on. 

She easily recognized the three squires the night before at the feast, drinking next to the knights they served as if nothing happened, and it only made her wolf blood boil in anger. She even offered Howland to find him a fine armor and horse in order to avenge himself, but he rejected the offering shyly. He was too scared of losing and making a fool of himself, to shame his people, the Crannogmen, in the jousts. Besides all of that, he was no knight and was not used to horses and lances, if he fought, he would be lost.

But how could he just forget what those rude beasts did to him? They trampled his honor, mocked him in the most humiliating way while he was lying on mud, their spits and his own blood. She understood that there was probably not much _he_ could do against three experimented knights in a jousting, he was no knight. But she… 

She couldn’t let those idiots just get away with it. She would have to turn herself into a mystery knight and make things right. 

 


	12. The Knight Of The Laughing Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry if i misspelled any words :( i wrote this while being at the airport, using my iPad... so it might have some mistakes! I'll fix them later... :D i also think it lacked something haha, but oh well... Hope you like it :)

The air was filled with anticipation as the arena was cleared out by King Aerys’ orders, lords and ladies expectant for the event as they heard him claiming that he had an important announce to make before the jousts of the day began. The very presence of the paranoid King in that tourney was a big surprise for everyone, so when they all heard he had an announcement to make, it was a fuss.

Seating in his spot next to his father, Rhaegar sat straight with his chin up, his sight running towards the field searching for anything that could give him a clue of what was about to happen on his father’s commands, not even he was informed of this, but all he could see was Ser Gerold Hightower standing down there as a rock statue, the point of his shining silver sword sinking heavy on the ground while both his hands were resting on the pommel. 

“Where is that pretty wolf-whore of yours?” The King snarled in a raspy voice and Rhaegar turned his head slightly at him, aware that Lyanna decided to stay in her chambers and asked specifically not to be bothered after a heatstroke, according to her handmaidens. “The Princess is not feeling well after a heatstroke, Your Grace. She asked to be excused for today.” 

Aerys scowled in displease. “If that wolf-whore can’t even endure this weather, how is she supposed to bear the fire of a dragon?” 

Rhaegar stood silent, if anything, his father’s comments were beyond rudeness with what they were always implying, but that was the way the Mad King expressed himself about anyone those days. He only hoped that when the day came, and Lyanna had to face one of those insults to her in her own presence, that fierce wolf blood of hers didn’t betray her. 

“Your Grace” suddenly, Lord Owen Merryweather was standing behind Aerys, the King didn’t turn, but Rhaegar did. The lord’s face was a monument to caution, his forehead was marked with thin lines of concern on his pale yellowish skin, and whatever he was about to say, surely was no good. “We are ready” he said.

The King moved in his chair, one of his crooked twisted smiles was painting his wrinkled face. He got up from his chair slowly and walked to the edge of the dais where they were seating, his claws-like hands resting on the wooden grille in front of them, ready to make his so expected announcement. 

At the sight of their King, the crowd went silent. 

From the ground, Ser Gerold was looking up to the royal dais, a quick stare to King Aerys and the white sword nodded slightly. “We summon Jaime Lannister before The King Aerys II Targaryen” Ser Gerold’s voice raided the increasing silence in the place, and all eyes went straight to the Lannister’s spot, where the young lion looked just as startled as the rest of the people, his green eyes wide open just as his sister’s next to him. 

With ease, the young lion descended from the dais and once on the ground, walked proudly in his Lannister armor towards the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, his sunshine golden locks that were so much like Cersei Lannister’s were waving with the fresh wind along with the red cloak on his back.

Looking at Jaime Lannister walking to Ser Gerold, thinking about the ruined relationships between the King and the Lord of Casterly Rock… Rhaegar knew… Something was not right. 

Jaime Lannister, in all his glory, kneeled in front of Aerys, and Rhaegar could see his father’s eyes shining in some kind of twisted happiness that augured nothing good.   

“Ser Jaime Lannister.” Ser Gerold’s powerful voice took over the arena like a thunder in the middle of a silent storm, and the golden lion lifted his head up, his green cat-like eyes went to the king briefly and then to the knight in front of him again, gasps and low whispers surrounding him. “You have been chosen for the highest of honors today. You have been chosen to be part of the King’s Kingsguard.”

Rhaegar frowned, his mouth parted in disbelief. In front of him, the Lannister lion, merely a boy, not even older than Lyanna, was being ‘honored’ by being taken as an hostage to King’s Landing in a knight’s disguise.

Jaime Lannister’s face was stone for a second, but his emerald green eyes were shining with pride and admiration, his head rose to look up at Ser Gerold, then to Aerys for a brief moment, and then back to the Kingsguard in front of him. Did that boy even knew what they just did to him? What Aerys did to him? If the young lion looked proud of his new title as knight and member of the Kingsguard, Tywin Lannister would not be too pleased. King Aerys had just taken his heir from him. 

“Being a Kingsguard is a high honor not many can aim at, Ser Jaime. As a White Cloak, you can’t hold lands, marry, sire children, and neither have any worldly allegiance with any other monarch this King.” he dictated “Will you give your life, only to your sword and your King?”

A sepulchral silence took over the place, his green eyes rose to the crowd nervously, stopping only for a fragment of second on his golden sister, and then back to the knight. All of the confidence he had spilled before, was now gone and replaced by the most pure nervousness, and it showed. 

He cleared his throat before speaking “I pledge my life… To protect the King” and as the words were thrown to the wind out of him, Ser Gerold lifted his heavy sword upon Jaime Lannister’s right shoulder in a light touch, as if with the steel touching the lion’s armor, he was becoming a golden knight and his blood red cloak turned into a white one. 

“Rise, Ser Jaime” the White Cloak said “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of your King, let your service begin and let it not end ’til death takes you from us, be it by the sword or the slow turn of time.” Ser Gerold spoke, and Jaime Lannister seemed aware of the weight of his words when his brows slightly furrowed.

The crowd cheered and gasped and celebrated, the young lion seemed as confused as he seemed proud. Ser Gerold unclipped the ornate lion fastenings of Ser Jaime’s armor, and his crimson cloak abandoned his shoulders -just as his titles as the heir of Casterly Rock- to be replaced by another of a crisp white color.

Rhaegar’s sight flew to his father, he seemed to be enjoying it even more than the Lannister boy. He was smirking, completely unaware of the idiocy of his acts, he believed himself untouchable, an untouchable Dragon King… But only a fool would believe that a crown made him unbeatable. At least when all he did was trying successfully to put one of the most powerful Lords of the Kingdom against himself. 

Ser Gerold said something to the Lannister boy in an inaudible volume for those in the dais, and a moment later, Jaime followed the knight and got lost in the darkness of one of the entrances of the arena, not before throwing a glance and a charged smile to his sister, who returned the gesture with a lovely smile on her full pink lips and sparkling emerald eyes.

And as the fervency of the naming evaporated in the next minutes, another event was taking place. Muttering and hesitating claps could be heard, all because of a mystery knight being announced, ‘The Knight of The Laughing Tree’ he named himself.

As the tiny knight showed up in a rusty mismatched armor that had several patches on it, the expectancy lowered considerably, his helmet was covering every inch of his face except for his eyes, and the knight held a shield painted with a strange weirwood tree on it, a laughing face gave the shield a strange looking aspect.

But when the mystery knight pointed his lance boldly and in a threatening fashion to the knights of Houses Frey, Blount and Haigh, gasps could be heard and with fair reasons… The three knights he just insolently defied doubled him in size and probably were much more experienced than a boy calling himself a ‘mystery knight’.

If anything, Rhaegar only wondered if the poor armor was a move to let his enemies low their guards. 

The Frey knight -who was much taller than the mystery knight- took a few steps forward with a cocky smile on his face “May I ask why are you, young Ser, defying us in such an insistent and aggressive manner? What is it that you want to achieve?” the knight  asked with a notorious glimpse of mockery.

Through the helmet, the voice of the Knight of The Laughing Tree sounded metallic and strangely booming. “You ought teach honor to your coward squires. That’s all I want to achieve”

The Frey knight and the others didn't seem to understand, crossing stares in a quick movement of their heads without anything else said, and apparently, those men were just as confused as the rest of the crowd.

With those last words and without hesitance, the mystery knight rode to the other direction, ready to begin with the joust, and the Frey knight mounted his horse with a triumphant smirk.

Next to Rhaegar, Aerys was staring suspiciously at the scene in front of him, his long nails curved into his skin when he made fists with his hands, his thin lips were whispering incoherent sentences at the air.

The flag was waved quickly by a squire, the knights began to rode towards each other and the ground billowed chaotic storms of dust under their horses’ heavy and powerful hooves.

In just a few seconds, the tip of the lance of the mystery knight sinked on the Frey knight’s chest, dismounting him from his horse in a single move and without much effort, the Frey Knight flew backwards, landing on his back and making a heavy sound like a sac of potatoes hitting the ground. 

Rhaegar -as well as the public on the stands- looked at the scene in surprise. Against all forecasts, the tiny Knight of The Laughing Tree defeated the Frey knight in a single move, easily. And the next two were no different. The Blount knight, considerably larger than any of them, lasted even less than the Frey knight, and so did the Haigh knight.

Who was that boy? 

The public stood on their feet, clapping loudly and excitedly for their mysterious knight in mismatched rusty armor, and for his surprise, even the King himself looked amused, chuckling uncontrollably at the defeat of the last man by the tiny Knight of The Laughing Tree, who was riding his dark brown horse triumphant around the arena in that moment.

As the knight approached the dais were the royalty seated, Aerys stood from his seat and extended his thin arms in the air, his pale bony hands waving to shush the excited public, and the silence was immediate. 

 

“You have been three times a victor, Knight of The Laughing Tree” Aerys spoke in his raspy voice once the knight stopped his pace in front of him “Now, take your helmet off, so we can see the face of our victor” he said and his lilac eyes were burning in curiosity, and most of all, paranoia. 

To everyone’s shock, after a couple of seconds, the knight shook his head in denial. For brief period of time, everything and everyone froze.

 _What is he doing?_ Rhaegar wondered, trying to figure out why the mystery knight was trying to commit suicide in front of everyone. 

“Are you denying your King’s order, boy?” Aerys’ words sounded sharp as a knife and his wrinkled hands began to shake in sign of his rising mad temper. More than a question, it could be interpreted as a death sentence in his head. “Take that helmet off!” the King’s face easily reddened at his boiling, unexpected rage, his eyes narrowing intensely at the knight. 

The tension in the air could be cut with a dagger, the silence was sepulchral when all eyes were resting on the tiny knight, who seemed to lost the ability to move for a moment. Did he realize what he just did? 

But once again, the knight shook his head stubbornly. He was absolutely signing his own death sentence. 

The King’s face reddened even more in anger, his eyes were burning like wildfire at the knight in front of him with, and Rhaegar was pretty sure what would his next words be. _Burn him._

Aerys’ hands fell heavily on the wooden railings  “Bring that traitor to me! Now!” and as the King pointed at the object of his desire with one skinny finger, The Knight of The Laughing Tree kicked his horse with his heels and the animal started galloping as fast as his desperate long legs allowed it, crossing the exit of the arena successfully after the slow reaction of the guards down there. 

“Don’t let him escape! Bring him to me!” Aerys hissed madly loud, his skinny fingers were now grabbing locks of his opaque silver hair and pulling them strongly in a raged act, for a second, Rhaegar thought he would end up plucking his hair off with his own hands. “Rhaegar!” Aerys’ shouted at him in despair. “Go get him! Bring him to me! Bring him to me, boy! Or I’ll burn every inch of this Kingdom until I find him!”

A chill went down his spine, if anything, Aerys’ threat was not far from truth, and he knew he would burn everything and everyone in his way without batting an eye to find that poor unlucky boy who had the audacity -or perhaps the stupidity- to refuse the Mad King’s order. 

Withouth another minute lost, Rhaegar nodded, sighing internally at his father’s madness. But the only thing he could do to help cool the situation down was to follow his orders. He got up in his onyx black armor and his squire passed him his shield and sword, walking firmly to where another squire already had Blackfyre saddled and ready to ride, leaving his father’s curses and hisses behind him. 

“Boy” he called the squire, and the boy’s eyes widened as eggs “Did you see which direction a knight in mismatched armor took?” 

The boy nodded “I think he took the godswood direction, Your Highness”

“Ser Jonothor, let’s split ways. In case the knight detoured from his path” Rhaegar commanded to the knight in golden armor and white cloak that followed him as a shadow, and the man nodded once atop his horse’s back, guiding the animal in the opposite direction as Rhaegar.

With only a few kicks from his heels, the imposing black beast was already galloping as fast as the wind towards the direction the mystery knight seemed to took just a minute ago, he would surely get to the boy, if he was following the right direction.

What would he do with the knight after he found him? He was probably just a boy, did he truly deserve to die in a pyre of wildfire? Of course not, nobody deserved to die in such a way. Was there any way to help him? And if so, letting him escape would be one. But if the knight escaped, how many lives would that cost? How many faithful Targaryen guards would die for their ‘incompetence’ in the King’s eyes? 

In front of him, the red and white weirwoods rose up, the leafs were balancing with every blow of the wind and with his keen eyes, he noticed a dark riding figure getting lost between the white wooded trees that composed that scarlet forest. 

He felt the wind in his face and how it became cooler against his skin once he entered those woods, the whole air became fresher. With one pull of the rails, Blackfyre halted its gallop sharply, and a metallic sound echoed between the white trunks. In that moment, all his senses were alert and his eyes were. 

Rhaegar dismounted the stallion, and when his feet touched the ground, his hand was tight on the grip of his sword. When he heard a horse’s neigh and a high pitched voice shouting something like ‘Hey!’, he knew he finally found the mystery knight. 

With every silent step, he could hear the sound of steel colliding on the ground. 

Whit every stride in the same direction, the sound could be heard closer and closer to him. That was it. He hid behind a trunk, harkening closely to the person struggling with what he supposed was his armor, and when all sound went silent, he decided it was time, and took a firm step towards the person hiding there.  

His blood froze like water in the north when he saw her there, and it took him seconds that seemed like an eternity to see that the knight was not a boy, at all. Taking the last piece of the rusty armor off of her small frame, Lyanna -his own fucking wife- sighed and wiped drops of sweat from her forehead with her small hands, her dark locks falling wildly in a messy cascade to the length of her waist, wearing only a black tunic and tight leggings that seemed to be sticking tightly to her legs. The Knight of The Laughing Tree’s armor resting on the ground in front of her. 

What in the seven hells was she doing? 

His mind was a chaos, was he daydreaming? Wasn’t she supposed to be postrated in bed due to a heatstroke? But in his head, even if it made no sense, he only knew it matched her untamed personality to do something like that.

“Of course!” his deep irritated voice made her jump like a frightened cat and he threw his arms in the air helplessly, her beautiful stormy eyes were wide as eggs when she turned to him and her body adopted a defensive posture that only made him pant.

He passed a hand roughly through his silver hair, his brows were knitted together and his teeth were pressing so hard against each other that he felt he might just break them. _Fuck!_ he cursed mentally with his nerves on the edge. Lyanna’s eyes were wary on him, like a cat about to defend itself from a bigger animal “Do you even know what you just did?” he claimed.

Lyanna looked like she’d just seen a ghost, but even so, her eyes were defying, burning fire against him, not a single word was spilled from her pink mouth.

“The King wants you burned!” he raised his voice, pressing his fingers strongly against his temples, and he could feel a headache emerging “No. He wants the Knight of the Laughing Tree burned” he corrected himself, contemplating the facts in front of him. At least she hid her identity decently well.

Her face was shirred in a concerned grim, her breathing was heavy and irregular, and she looked like she was about to start running in the opposite direction at the slightest move he could make. “And you’re gonna take me to him” she affirmed, more than questioned, and her hazel, steely eyes were like daggers on him, and even with that fearful glimpse in them, the spark of wild defiance did not die. 

Take her to Aerys? How was he supposed to take her, his own wife, to such a painful death? Was she joking? If anything, it only made his irritation grow bigger and bigger, his mind was a chaos trying to figure a way out of the mess Lyanna made all by herself. 

But he only knew one thing. He had to protect her.

“Are you insane? I’m not taking you to Aerys” he growled, spitting the words harshly. It sounded so, _so_ different from his usual sweet tongue that it even let him startled. “Why?” he asked, trying hard to compose himself and sound calm and collected again, expecting some rational explanation of what just happened “Why did you do it?”

Even if her expression relaxed a little after he assured her that she was not in danger of being taken to the King, there was still the most pure wariness in her moves. “For honor” she said firmly, her voice ringing like bells in the middle of that scarlet forest “The squires of those three knights… They attacked one of my father’s men, a defenseless boy” and her face looked like she was reviving that moment that angered her so much in her head. 

Basically… She was telling him that, in order to defend a boy’s honor, she put herself in danger not only by jousting against experienced knights, but also by denying a royal order and assuring herself a death sentence. A noble action, that spoke so highly of her sense of honor and justice and her bravery as well… But a suicidal one, at least considering who the King was. 

What a strange creature his wife was. And in the most odd way, he suddenly felt proud of her. Once again, Lyanna Stark proved to be no ordinary lady. But still...

“He was on the ground, bleeding in the mud! And those three pigs were laughing at him, as if they were… Proud! Proud of a remarkable action!” she continued “Should I just sit and watch while these kind of injustices happen?!” she growled with the most vivid fire on her steely eyes. Ice and fire blending chaotically in those beautiful orbs.

A sigh abandoned his lips tiredly. “Couldn’t you just tell me? I would’ve done it, Lyanna. You didn’t have to do this” he breathed, and the headache he predicted before was already there, hammering his temple mercilessly. 

She let a small breath out when he spoke, and her mouth parted in disbelief for a moment.

“Of course. Because the Dragon Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, would’ve fought for a simple squire’s honor” she spitted fiercely after recovering from that blank moment that assaulted her. 

And in that sentence, she spilled every single thought she had on him, her despising stare accompanying her hard words and he thought that with every step forward they made in improving their relationship, things like that sent them fifty others backwards. Why did she had to be so difficult?

“I would have” he simply answered, and he wasn’t questioning her reasons but her ways of fixing the problem “And even if you don’t trust me enough to do it… Any other knight in the realm would’ve taken your order” he finished.

Several seconds passed in silence and she only lowered her gaze to her own feet, biting her lower lip insistently. “What are you gonna do?” she finally asked with red painted cheeks.

“Do you have your clothes here?” he answered her with another question, it visibly bothered her but in that moment, Lyanna’s annoyance was the las of his worries. “I do” she responded, pointing to a leather bag between the bushes. 

“Then get dressed. And give me your shield” 

“What for?” she asked in distrust. “The shield…” she clarified.

“I need some sort of proof… To show my father I actually chased the mystery knight” he sighed heavily once again. 

Lyanna nodded and her shoulders loosened a little, she turned her back on him later to grab her bodice and skirts from the bag on the ground. “Turn around” she ordered him and he obeyed, resting his elbow in a white trunk to support his head with his hand. The sound of fabric hitting the ground was all that could be heard and gave him the notion that she was probably naked behind him.

“Hey” she called him, and he wasn’t sure if he could already turn see her. “Could you…” she hesitated “Give me a hand?” she asked. 

He turned only to see her giving him her back, her head was slightly turned to him and even if her dark wavy hair was covering part of her face, he could see the flush on her cheek. When his sight went down, he saw the laces of the red bodice, completely loose, leaving the pale skin of her back bare to his eyes.

He walked towards her, and put her wavy locks aside, leaving her neck, shoulders and back even more exposed to the cool air of the woods. His sight ran quickly down her smooth skin, admiring briefly the softness of it and how it contrasted against the scarlet fabric of the dress. His skilled fingers quickly tightened the laces on the bodice around her small waist and breasts, and her breath was held for a moment. “Is that okay?” he asked in a low, satin voice to make sure before making a knot. She turned her head slightly and nodded.

“Turn around” she asked him once again when the laces were properly tied, ready to put on the last piece of her clothes that had to be placed atop the bodice, and cover herself from his sight. 

Once changed, she looked like a delicate, innocent Princess once again, her black tunics and armor were resting on the bag lying on the ground, covered in dust and some mud, ready to be vanished somewhere in those woods for her own sake.

“How are we gonna ride?” Lyanna asked when she saw Rhaegar bringing Blackfyre with him, no other horse was around since hers ran away. Oh, but she wasn’t going to like his idea, he was sure.

He raised his eyebrows quickly and directed his amethyst eyes to the horse, and she seemed to understand clearly. “I’m not riding that way” she sentenced while crossing her arms upon her chest in a stubborn gesture. As if she actually had a choice.

“Well, unless you have another horse, which by the looks of it” he ran his eyes around them, searching for another destrier “You don’t… You will have to” 

Her cheeks swell when she trapped air in them like a little child, her mouth in a tight grim of displeasure when she approached the horse, ready to mount him against her deepest wishes. He failed to contain a laughter when, after rejecting his help to get on Blackfyre and fiercely slapping his hand away, she failed miserably on her first attempt to jump atop of the stallion, losing balance in the process and landing with both her delicate hands on his chest for support. She was trying to mount a giant destrier wrapped up in a lady’s heavy dress, not her comfortable tunics. Another attempt, and another fail, accompanied by a rude curse “Fuck!” she shouted and looked down, as if she was cursing at the heavy crimson silks of her skirts. 

He only wanted to laugh, watching her try to mount Blackfyre clumsily because of that dress, with that frustration on her pretty face, was a thing to behold and a sight he would probably not forget in a long time.  

Without a single word and only an involuntary, mockingly grin on his face that he failed to hide, he offered his help once again. Hesitant, looking embarrassed, and with a deadly stare directed to him when she noticed the effort in trying to stop his lips from curling up in a smile, she accepted reluctantly, cursing him under her breath.

Once she was mounted on the horse, with that face that only showed her bad mood, he jumped behind her and pulled their bodies close. When he rested one of his hands on her flat stomach to hold her firm, she grabbed his hand with her small ones and moved it away while sighing deeply. “Okay” he muttered, responding to her stubbornness, and placed both his hands on the reins, his arms surrounding her.

Her dark locks were brushing his face gently when the stallion began its gallop, the scent of winter roses was intoxicating to his senses as they passed by the trees quickly..

The grin was still adorning his face, but he just couldn’t help it. Her indignant, upset expression wouldn’t abandon his mind, and even if he couldn’t see her face in that moment, he was sure that the displeased grim was still there. 

“What are you doing?” she turned her head and asked when he grabbed the heavy bag with the mystery knight’s armor tied to Blackfyre’s saddle, her hazel gems going from the bag to him and from him to the bag again. 

“Getting rid of the evidence” he said and his voice sounded a little forced while he lifted the bag to throw it into the lake.

Nobody would find that in the bottom of a lake.

By the time they arrived at Harrenhal, the sun was setting and a thick mass of dark smoke building up like a tower could be seen from where they were, the smell was too familiar to him and it sent chills to his spine. The smell of melting flesh. 

“What is that?” Lyanna asked, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant smell. He parted his lips, not sure if he should tell her. 

Perhaps, it would be better not to. Not yet.

“You’ll have to get down here.” he avoided her question “I can’t arrive with you” he muttered while dismounting the stallion and helping her down, not before making sure nobody was around, running his keen sight quickly around them “Do you have everything covered?” he asked cautiously, getting closer to her face and putting his hands on the soft skin of her shoulders. He knew that at the slightest mistake or inconsistency, their secret could be out in the light.

She nodded with her big, beautiful eyes lifted up to him, her cheeks flushed and furrowed brows. Even with that concerned expression, the she wolf looked amazingly lovely, he had to admit. How could anyone suspect about her when she looked like that?

“Then go. I’ll take care of the rest” he told her, removing his fingers from that smooth warm skin of hers and mounting back on his horse.

 

 


	13. Queen of Love and Beauty

 

 

The fresh memory of his freckled face paling as if he’d seen a ghost when she told him made her smile, the poor Crannogman, looked like he was about to faint when he heard that their plot was discovered and not less than by the Prince himself. Luckily for him, luckily for _them,_ it was Rhaegar who found her in that armor or their fates would be very, very different.

Thankfully, it wasn’t like that, and they both were safe. He in the middle of her brothers at the dais, and she in her royal spot above everyone else. 

And her thoughts went to Aerys, and those whom he burned a few days ago only because they couldn’t find the Knight of The Laughing Tree. The same sore on her chest that had been bothering her so much emerged, like a twinge inside her, and the smell of burning flesh came to her like an unstoppable wave. She wondered when would she let it go. Probably never, the deaths of those men would be forever graven on her mind, and so would the guilt she felt, even despite her husband’s words of solace to her. _It is not your fault. Nobody knows how the King can react to anything anymore. Don’t blame yourself, Lyanna. He is the only one to blame._ He had told her when she stormed in his chambers to break the horrible news he already heard of, with a face marked deeply by panic. And even if he was right in what he told her, the heavy weight was still on her. 

His kind words helped her understand it wasn't all her fault, that in a normal situation something like that wouldn’t have happened. Sadly, it wasn't thus.

She could only thank her Old Gods that, once the mystery knight disappeared like smoke in the air,  the King felt so threatened by the mystery surrounding the circumstances, that he left the next morning after Rhaegar only presented to him the mystery knight’s shield, and went back to his Red Keep, taking with him a ridiculous number of guards to protect him. 

With the King gone, and Rhaegar on the jousting lists, the royal dais were practically empty, except for her. And her ladies-in-waiting. She found the place very pleasant without the King’s presence -but everything seemed much more pleasant without him- but still, quiet boring without her brothers. She wished she could join Bran, Ned and Ben. But at least she could see them from her place, and she enjoyed those days sharing with them and also with Howland, who became like a little brother to her in little time. He was very similar to Ben in so many ways.

“Look Princess!” suddenly, Jeyne spoke in a high pitched voice behind her, taking her out of her cavils “The Prince!”

“And now, the last joust” cried the herald, drawing her attention towards the arena after Jeyne’s little shout “Ser Barristan The Bold, against Prince Rhaegar” he announced, and the crowd chanted with enthusiasm, including her ladies behind her.

Down there, she could see honorable Ser Barristan mounted in his white horse but not in his usually golden armor, another one, a silver one that fitted him well. It was the first time she saw the knight without his characteristic Kingsguard’s armor, an odd view, indeed. 

He was practically a legend in those Seven Kingdoms and the crowd acclaimed him almost as much as they acclaimed her husband. If Rhaegar had a chance against him, she wasn't sure. But once again, the tourney itself had been a surprising one, and even Brandon, and knights like Arthur Dayne were defeated by her silver husband. That definitely made her regret the silver dragons she betted on the Sword of The Morning.

On the opposite side of the arena, Rhaegar mounted Blackfyre gallantly in his beautiful black armor, his helmet was covering most of his face, but the silvery blond locks were still loose below the edges of the helmet. A vision in black and red and silvery blond, one that all the maidens sighed for. Except for her.

Both knights  prepared themselves, and expectancy filled the air, a deadly silence as the herald waved the flag at the sound of the trumpet, and both horses thundered forward against each other in an intense galloping. 

She could see her silver husband holding his shield tightly against him, raising it a little more to cover himself and aiming his lance at Ser Barristan’s arm, while the kingsguard’s lance splintered against the centre of the Dragon Prince’s shield, who for a moment, looked like he was about to lose balance and fall, but his thighs were pressed tightly enough to his horse to keep him atop of it. They galloped past each other, only coming to a halt when the barrier ended.

Turning their horses to face each other, the horn sounded once again and they both started galloping. This time, Rhaegar’s lance splintered against the knight’s waist, while lifting the shield to deflect Ser Barristan’s lance with effort.

Jousting wasn’t just all about strength, but also about ability, and it seemed like Rhaegar knew that too. But could he really win against Barristan The Bold?

The last lances were given to them, and the trumpet sounded again. She saw the exact moment Rhaegar dug his heels into Blackfyre’s flanks, the horse started galloping and his lance was aiming straight to the knight’s chest. He raised his shield to guard himself, and the crowd gasped as Ser Barristan fell harshly after Rhaegar’s lance knocked him out of his horse, landing on the ground and making a dry sound when the steel hit the ground. 

Ser Barristan was then seating with bending legs on the ground, both his hands removing his helm off, exposing his grey mane to the light.

Rhaegar quickly dismounted his horse, and approached the fallen knight, taking his helmet off as well, messy locks of silver hair shining under the hot sun of Harrenhal. Ser Barristan took the hand the Dragon Prince offered him, and they shook hands in a friendly fashion, their lips were moving and smiling, but what they were saying was a mystery to her, the sound of the crowd was swallowing their voices into the noise.

“The victor is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!” the herald screamed and the crowd began to cheer loudly again for their prince. 

As he mounted his horse, waving his hands to the people claiming for him on the dais, a young boy approached him in Whent colors, holding a crown of blue roses and handing it to him with a bow. _Winter Roses_ she thought with joy as she remembered how those beautiful blue flowers grew freely in Winterfell. The Crown of Love and Beauty was made of winter roses. 

Thought she was never crowned before, she heard of those crowns in the tourneys and how ladies dreamt of being crowned by their own knight in a romantic fashion.That was definitely not for her.

She saw Rhaegar looking at the circlet made of those blue roses for a brief moment with curiosity, and after that, he dug his heels into Blackfyre and trotted towards the dais that belonged to him… And her as well. 

The horse trotted on and stopped in front of her, her silver husband was right in front of her, looking at her with those valyrian eyes of his and a single corner of his mouth lifted in a mid smile. _What is he doing?!_

As he held out the crown to her with the tip of his lance, the chanting of the crowd became louder and louder, and so did the excited shrieks of her ladies-in-waiting behind her. She could feel thousands of stares on her and only her, too many faces smiling and waving and screaming and all at her. _What is he doing?!_ She was his wife, yes, and it was expected of him, she knew, but it still took her by surprise. He could have told her, at least.

Everything and everyone became blurry, except for a pair of indigo eyes fixed intensely on her and a blue circlet of winter roses that was suddenly resting on her lap.  

Was she supposed to put it on her head?

She brushed her fingers against the velvet-like petals of the crown, and took it into her hands, holding the crown limply for a brief moment before placing it on top of her own head. And when the winter roses rested on top of her dark locks, Rhaegar smiled. Again. 

“My Queen of Love and Beauty” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a short chapter, and just a filler one. The next one is going to be an important one.
> 
> BTW, this is how i think Lyanna might look in the KOTLT's armor :) 
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1c/c8/91/1cc891aced2e2cdaa47ac524767128e5.jpg
> 
> I would put the image directly here, but honestly, i'm dying of sleepiness, so yeah... Thanks for your comments, they really help me get the inspiration!


	14. Crimson Sheets

A pair of amethyst gems in front of him just like his were staring back at him, in them, he could see fear, so much fear… But also a strength that could move mountains if she wanted to. For the right reasons. And there were only two for her. 

A dry slam onto the wooden table and those gems jumped. Rhaella, Viserys, and even Lyanna seating next to him jerked up to this single gesture of impatience from the King. 

“My goblet is not going to fill itself!” he hissed and a young servant hurriedly took a few steps forward and began to pour the burgundy colored liquid in the golden goblet. 

He threw a quick last glance upon his mother, but her eyes were already down on her plate and her face hard and cold as marble as a reaction to the slam. 

“You” the King spoke and his dark indigo eyes met his pale lilac ones “You useless boy” he continued, narrowing his eyes “There are whispers around here about you” 

Whispers. _Whispers of Varys_. Could it be? 

His blood ran quickly through his veins, and his pulse incremented considerably. He could feel the blood leaving his face, was he pale? Did anyone notice? Did Varys finally found out about him and his plans to topple his own fucking father? 

 _No_.

It could not be. If that was it, he wouldn’t be having supper with his mother, brother, father and wife right now, he would be tied to a post ready to be burnt in front of the entire realm for treason. Then what was it?

Aerys took a sip of wine and focused his eyes on another spot. Lyanna. 

“Are you truly so naught that you haven’t even bedded your own wife?” little drops of spit came out of his mouth as he spoke, some landing on his own food and some other on his long and tangled beard. He didn’t need to turn to Lyanna to know she was frozen in her seat “Stupid boy. Do you even know how to fuck? Or is it that this wolf whore and her pretty tits and gorgeous face are not appealing enough for you?”

 _Here we go._  

He knew the moment would come sooner or later, rumors about their wedding night were spread all over King’s Landing. But why, why did Varys had to whisper _that_ on his father’s ears?

“Your Grace” Rhaegar felt the tension in the air, not a single noise was made in the background, and not even little Viserys seemed to move in his seat, with his curious eyes on Lyanna. But he had to say something to make him stop. To stop the humiliation to her. “I haven’t had the time, I’ve been busy dealing with some matters of the realm and-“

“Don’t you dare to try to fool me, Rhaegar! After all these moon turns? If she doesn’t want to, stop being a good-for-nothing and force the dragon seed on her!” he directed his eyes filled with malice to Lyanna again, and he did as well. 

She looked like a statue, her full lips were parted and her eyes seemed to be lost somewhere in a spot in front of her, both her hand resting motionless on the table. 

“Perhaps we should leave our son to decide this, he is-“ Rhaella’s sweet voice sounded like a pair of bells in the hall, but his father’s raspy one overcame hers. “Shut up, you barren woman! If it weren’t for you, the blood could still be pure and we wouldn’t have to depend on this treasonous wolf” and as he spoke, his hand was lifted in a threatening manner, ready to slap the Queen’s beautiful face. Her slim frame shrank in fear and Rhaegar felt his muscles tensing up, his hands were fists under the table. 

“Fuck the she-whore tonight.” the King smirked with strange pleasure shining in his pale eyes that were focused on Lyanna, and he licked his lips, ready for his next sentence “If you don’t… I will do it myself. And then I will give her to the guards. I’m sure they will enjoy your little maiden just as much as I will”

And he used every bit of self control he had in him to stop himself from getting up and throwing the table itself towards Aerys. He was sure his thin broomstick-like body would be crushed by the table’s weight only.

He looked at Lyanna for half a second, her lips were pressed strongly against each other, her eyes were closed tightly and her chest was going up and down in an accelerated pace, making the round tips of her breasts that were bare thanks to the cleavage on her dress, strongly highlighted. For a moment, he could only curse those damned southron dresses that showed too much. It felt so wrong to have his father’s eyes on her in that moment. So threatening.

An incredible morbid image popped up in his mind, and he could see Lyanna, screaming and being held by the Kingsguards to a bed while his father… 

“Please, Aerys-“ a slapping sound cut Rhaella’s sweet voice, and all of the sudden her face was hidden behind locks of silvery blond hair and her own hand, covering the reddened cheek. A few strands of hair were still tangled in Aerys’ long, curved nails. “I told you to shut up”

At his side, he felt Lyanna ready to get up and probably do something reckless, but he was quick enough and put his hand on her leg under the table, holding it down strongly, throwing her a sharp glance that she returned with her fiery one.

Visery’s eyes were full of tears after seeing his mother being hit, and when one little sob escaped him, the King turned his eyes to him “Look at him!” he shouted “He’s just as spoiled as Rhaegar thanks to you! You made him soft, stupid woman! I can’t even look at you anymore” he sentenced, and suddenly, got up from his chair, his purple tunics hanging loose on his body.

“And you…” Aerys pointed a finger to him. He could just so easily snap and grab it and break it any second along with that thin arm of his’. Nothing would make him happier in that moment. “Either you fuck your pretty little maiden _tonight_ , or I’ll gladly do it for you… Along with the entire male population of this keep” 

As the King turned around and began to walk away, he closed his eyes and he felt his brows furrowed deeply against his own will, a hot burning feeling going up his throat. For how much longer would he be able to contain the fury?

In front of him, Rhaella was quiet and still. 

“Mother” he kneeled next to her, and she turned her face to him. Her cheek was red and scratched, but not a single tear dared to leave her eyes. Next to her, Viserys had already tangled his arms around her and his small face was buried in her stomach. “I’m fine, my son” she caressed Visery’s silver hair tenderly “We are gonna be fine” she reassured, placing a soft hand on his face. “You take care of Lyanna” 

And as she said it, he looked over at her. 

She was just a girl. And it showed. Her hazel look, with that strong touch of stormy grey seemed so absent, lost somewhere dark and grim, and she was visibly struggling against those crystal tears flooding her eyes.

What was he supposed to do with her? Either he took her, or his father and the soldiers would.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fear and anger. Anger and fear. All over and over and over again.

That old sac of bones and skin and madness ruled even over her own life, over everyone’s life. 

But maybe what bothered her the most, was the fact that not even gallant and brave Rhaegar Targaryen did anything to defend her, his _fucking_ wife, to defend his own mother either. No. 

When the door opened, and his tall figure showed up, her blood was boiling in her veins once again. “How could you just sit there?!” she heard her own voice in a high pitched tone piercing her own ears. “How could you just let him hit your own mother like that?!” he stood still in front of her, his factions were stone and his eyes were burning just as hot as hers but in a different tone. “You’re _not_ the brave prince everyone says you are! You’re just another of your father’s subjects!” she punched his hard chest with both her fists, and even if it didn't even move an inch of him, she did it over and over again, and the tears were already flooding her sight. “You’re a coward!” she screamed and her hand was already sweeping the air, ready to land on his cheek in a strong slap.

But a strong grip on her wrist stopped her. 

Suddenly, he went down to her level, and both his hands were gripped around her wrists, preventing her from moving even if she was trying. “Do you think I like watching my own mother being slammed by that monster?!” sharp burning amethyst flames sent chills to her spine, accompanied by his low, dangerous voice “Do you really think so?!” 

“Then why didn’t you do anything?! Why?!” her screams were so loud she was sure the Kingsguards outside Rhaegar’s chambers could hear them. But she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was to scream until everything was over.

He made a laughing grimace that looked too sour, too acid… 

“Don’t be confused, _dear wife_. My father wouldn’t bat an eye to have me burned at the slightest gesture of insolence towards him. And you with me” his eyes were glancing intensely into hers, his face was so near hers that she could feel his hot and agitated breath on her skin, burning her like dragon fire, and the sourness of his words as well.

_His own fucking father._

He dropped his grip on her wrists and a loud snort of frustration was out of him, he was pacing through the room like a caged beast, a pair of his long fingers pressing the straight bridge of his nose in a nervous fashion and his jaw was clenched tight.

He took his black doublet off and threw it on the floor, raged and rabid, and her heart skipped a beat when the black velvet hit the floor. What was he gonna do? 

He approached the wooden desk near the window, and opened a drawer below. From the drawer, he took a dagger of valyrian steel adorned with what she presumed were precious stones. _Rubies._ _What is he doing?_

“Take that dress off” he commanded visibly annoyed, his voice was unbending steel, unkind too. Was he truly going to _fuck_ her like that monster ordered him? 

"W-What?" she muttered, her voice about to break.

"Take that _fucking_ dress off!" he growled and she jumped at the steely tone his voice had, his amethyst eyes were like hot, _hot_  dragon fire on her skin and some strands of hair were crossing his face wildly. She never heard him like that. She never _saw_ him like that.

Did she have any other choice? Did _he_ have any other choice? Either she received her fucking husband between her legs or she would have to open them for that disgusting, old madman and his army. And even she knew which one was the better -the _gentler and nicer_ \- choice. Just to imagine Aerys on top of her, sinking those disgustingly long nails on her skin and his cock on her, it made her stomach twist painfully. She felt so disgusted by the thought, she thought she could just peel her own skin off with a knife after that.

With hot, rabid tears insistently rolling down her cheeks one after another, she untied the laces on the back of her dress, running her hands slowly upon her bare shoulders to slid the gown down to the floor. 

And when the silks and chiffon and small clothes were around her feet, she quickly covered her breasts with both her arms, hoping with all her heart that it would end soon and that Rhaegar wouldn’t ask her to uncover herself. 

She could feel her soaked cheeks burning red and the sobs coming, like wave after wave in a stormy sea, and she could do nothing to stop them. The air of the capital never felt so cold against her bare skin. But even then, he didn't look at her. 

_You’re not going to break. You're not going to break._

Rhaegar kneeled on the bed, throwing the blankets to the feet of the bed, his bare torso defined intensely by the golden glow of the candles and the dagger still on one hand. Considering the difference in height and strength, she didn’t get why did he have to use that fucking dagger. Like he could scare her even more in that moment. Like he needed to use force on her in that moment. “You don't have to threaten me with that!” her voice sounded so small and weak it was unrecognizable to her. 

But the fear had taken even the strength of her voice.

A sour chuckle abandoned his lips then, and he denied with his head, his brows furrowed deeply.

In a quick movement, he slid the sharp blade of the dagger against the skin of his thumb, for a fraction of second he scowled, and dark crimson blood began to flow, making small rivers on his golden skin all the way down his hand.

He softly pressed his bloody thumb against a spot in the middle of those white sheets, and he only retired it once the sheet was visibly stained with the crimson liquid. Her thoughts were a mess and the air felt so heavy on her lungs. Was he doing what she thought he was?

“This should work” he muttered. "It has to"

Still covering herself with her arms, she approached the bed hesitantly, and his mystic valyrian eyes went to her face quickly, studying her for a couple of seconds, avoiding successfully to look from her neck down. But even that made her cheeks burn. 

There, in the middle of those white sheets, was the crimson proof of their consummation.

 


	15. The Golden Lioness

Silent step after silent step, her tip toes were already achy. Playing hide and seek with little Viserys in the Red Keep was one of the most challenging games she ever played, not only was the Red Keep an immense structure even if they decided to limit the game to only certain areas, but also, the little prince could vanish as ash in the wind if he wanted to. 

“Where did you hide, Viserys?” she whispered to herself, ready to give up at any moment after already fifteen minutes looking for him with no results, the little kid had vanished and only his Gods would know where. “Come on Vis, give a sign” she begged in a low voice, expecting something to happen, anything, in fact.

Nothing.

As if he would reveal his hideout willingly. _Silly me._

When a deep sigh of disappointment went past her lips and she was ready to give up, a small giggle called her attention towards a point on a corner, and all she saw was a glimpse of silver turning around the corner at high speed. 

“Vis” she smiled and quickly followed him, but as soon as she turned around the corner, there was nothing between those walls made of white stones. 

Nothing except for a slightly open door a few steps ahead. _Got you._

Approaching the doors, small sounds could be heard, and she was finally starting to believe she found the little prince. 

When she peeped on the small space left between the doors, there was a completely different image of what she thought.

Cersei Lannister. And Jaime Lannister.

She knew the daughter of Tywin Lannister arrived that morning, and she couldn’t care less. Even if she was a peculiar lady. Her hair seemed too shiny, her waist too small, her eyes too green, her face too beautiful and her attitude too smug. There was something under that perfection that didn’t seem to fit, something was too fake, too practiced. Perhaps it was her smile. Beautiful, but not a true smile. Maybe her eyes, the way they were sharp like spiky emeralds upon others. 

The lioness of Casterly Rock, as proud as her twin, and just as beautiful. 

But the reason she was standing behind almost closed doors, listening in secret, was not their beauty, but the sound of her husband’s name on her lips. 

“Prince Rhaegar?” she heard her honey-sweet voice, not able to see her pretty heart shaped face but only her golden curly locks falling on her back. 

“I don’t see any other reason for you to come here. Have you not got over your obsession with Prince Rhaegar, dear sister? He’s a married man now” her brother in shining golden armor seemed to be reminding her in that moment, with a lifted eyebrow and a cocky smile on his lips, a hand resting on the edge of the table near him. 

A conversation came to her mind, and she remembered the words of Jeyne and Ashara in that afternoon they’ve spent gossiping and eating lemon cakes on the gardens. “ _She wanted to be you, Princess. No. She wanted to have your titles and be the Prince’s wife.”_

“Ha!” Lady Cersei flinched her shoulders “First of all… No, I’m not here _because_ of Prince Rhaegar, but because father sent me to give him a secret gift. And second.” a short silence, and Jaime Lannister’s amused expression before she spoke again “The Prince might be married. But truth is, the Stark girl is as frigid as a cold piece of ice from that frozen land of savages she came from. Everybody knows it. He’ll get tired of her and her frozen cunt, eventually. She’s no competition” 

She didn’t even know which part was the most offensive, in one single sentence that woman had just insulted her, her lands and her people. Her ladies-in-waiting’s gossips were true. Suddenly, she found herself wondering how pretty could Lady Cersei look with a blackened eye and a few teeth less. Oh, but she would enjoy sinking her fist in her pretty little face.

“And you’ll be Queen someday, right, dear sister?” Jaime Lannister’s voice was stained with a hint of mockery, and his quizzing expression only proved it. “Mock me all you want. But we’ll see if Prince Rhaegar prefers a flat chested, frigid wolf-bitch before… This” and as her sweet melodic voice spoke those tainted words that almost made her kick those doors open to drag her out of that damned Red Keep by her hair, from behind, Lyanna could see Lady Cersei Lannister opening  her dress in front of her own brother.

Was she dreaming? What the fuck was going on? Even the ire that smug narcissistic _bitch_ caused her was long forgotten and replaced by the most pure consternation, and it only got worse when the golden knight told his pretty sister to _“Stop talking nonsense”_ and grabbed her by the waist, planting a deep, passionate kiss on her lips, one of his hands -apparently- resting on one breast, and the other one pulling her even closer to him.

_What the fuck?!_

“Lya?” the small voice of Viserys behind her made her jump, and she could only thank the Old Gods she did not let any loud sound out. “Viserys!” she muttered, and quickly grabbed the hand of the little prince to get him away from the disturbing scene she just witnessed. 

Did she hallucinate? Brother and sister, kissing each other, touching each other like lovers. Trying to protect Viserys from such a concept seemed stupid if she thought about it, the entire Targaryen dynasty was founded upon the argument of the pure bloodline and the marriage between siblings to keep it that way. But somehow, it just wasn’t shocking anymore. Maybe because everybody knew, maybe because it was a millennial custom. But for Lannisters, and for all other Houses… It was frowned upon. 

How could that be?

“You couldn’t find me, Lya. It means I won!” he smiled at her with those childish and gleaming lilac eyes. 

“Yeah, you did, Vis” she tried to smile back, and she wasn’t even sure what kind of deformed smile she gave to the kid, but the same image was repeating over and over on her mind, of two lion siblings acting like lovers. 

 

* * *

 

“Your Highness” Oswell Whent spoke “Lady Cersei Lannister is here.”

Jon Connington gave him a serious acknowledgement look, they both knew what that meant. The Lady’s visit to King’s Landing was no coincidence. And it was perfect, nobody would ever suspect the Lady Lannister to be a messenger for high treason. 

“Let her in, please, Oswell” Rhaegar addressed to the knight in golden armor “Jon. You can go” he said to the redhead.

When Jon left, the golden Cersei Lannister stepped in, shrouded in a crimson gown that if anything, only made her curvy figure stand out, a lovely smile adorned her face, framed by those Lannister golden curls, and in her hands, she held a small wooden box with lions carved all over it. 

“My Prince” she greeted, showing a set of pearly white teeth as she offered her delicate hand in a lady-like manner and he took it, only to deposit a kiss in it “My Lady. We’re honored to have you here” and as he spoke, her cheeks acquired a soft pink tone. “It is my honor, My Prince” she said shyly and dropped her sight to the wooden box between her hands. “My father has sent you this gift, to congratulate you for your victory in the Tourney of Harrenhal” she placed the box upon the desk.

Rhaegar looked at it, should he open it? He wasn’t sure if the daughter of Lord Tywin was aware of what that box could contain -not even he was sure of it. She probably thought it was just a regular gift. 

Hesitant, he placed his fingers on the golden clips that maintained the box closed and unclipped them. When he lifted the tap, a dagger with the blade made of gold was resting inside of it, glinting ostentatiously against the red velvet that was it’s mattress, rubies were embedded on the handle like little drops of blood in it. What a metaphorical gift. 

 _A dagger to stab my father on the back._ What a dark contemplation that was.

Sweeping the sour thought away, he fixed his eyes on it. He was sure, somewhere inside the box, probably under those fancy red velvets, there had to be something more, something with a written answer, anything. Even if the dagger itself was already a glint of what Lord Tywin decided.

He shut the box then, deciding that it would be wiser to inspect the box later, when he was alone. “A beautiful gift, My Lady. I will send a letter to your Lord father to express my gratitude” she smiled again, and batted her long lashes a few times “It’s the least you deserve, My Prince”

She was staring at him with her emerald eyes, her chest seemed inflated with pride, a Lannister lioness she was. Just like Ser Jaime.

“For how long are you staying here in King’s Landing, My Lady?” he asked.

“Oh… Just for a fortnight, My Prince. I’m afraid my Lord father prefers me to be near him, in Casterly Rock” 

 _And he has plenty of reasons._ Rhaegar thought of Lord Tywin, and how the King took his heir last time his children were in his presence. Who was his heir now? His newborn? A poor babe that was said to be deformed and rejected by the Lannister Lord. 

“And it is only reasonable, Lady Cersei. With Ser Jaime here, you should accompany your father, who’s alone taking care of your little brother. Right?” 

“I prefer King’s Landing, if you ask me” she smiled and her cheekbones went high, ignoring the mention of the babe. He could swear that, for a moment, her smile was a forced one. “Maybe I could be one of the Princess’ ladies-in-waiting?” she suggested then, curling a lock of golden hair around one of her long fingers and pulling it softly.

“I’m sure the Princess will find the idea… Quiet interesting” he lied. Lyanna would hate it. She sure would. If he had to think about anyone as the natural opposite to his wolf-wife, Lady Cersei was probably the best candidate. 

“I’d gladly live here…” she added with what seemed to be dreamy eyes.

She sure would. She appeared to be exactly the type of lady to fit in the capital, she was sophisticated, wealthy, beautiful. She was like an undeniable fitting piece in Court. And if everything went as planned, Lady Cersei’s wish would probably become true, Lord Tywin wouldn’t have any objections for the young girl to live in Court. He would find it easy to find his daughter a suitable match for her, any Lord would take her in a second. 

And to think that Cersei Lannister could’ve been his wife. If his father said yes a couple years ago, he would be married to that lovely lady in front of him. 

He remembered the first time he saw her, he didn’t particularly like the thirst for power of Lord Tywin, but after he saw her, he had no objections to make and he had to admit, for shallow reasons, he would’ve gladly accepted the betrothal with the beautiful lioness. But instead, his father turned Lord Tywin down, humiliating him saying that such a match was beneath his son. 

After that, Tywin Lannister never set a foot again in King’s Landing and resigned as Hand of The King. An understandable posture for a man like him.

“Would you like to walk with me, My Prince?” she asked with her emerald eyes on him.

“Of course, My Lady.” he responded and offered his arm, and she tangled her arm around his.

“I hope I can get to hear one of your marvelous melodies, Prince Rhaegar. It would be a delight to hear your harp once again” she complimented, walking slowly towards the Maidenvault at his side. Did she ever heard him play? He couldn’t even remember. “Your compliments are too kind, Lady Cersei.”

“I’m just being just. I remember the songs you played on the Great Hall of this Keep when your father gave a feast for mine.” she showed her teeth in another lovely smile, her eyes looking straight forward as if she was actually reviving the moment.

Oh, that time. He remembered then.

Suddenly, something caught his eye in front of them. In an aqua colored gown, his wife was looking strikingly beautiful while walking towards them firmly, like a storm approaching, her dark waves falling to her waist and bouncing at her pace, and the proud Jaime Lannister at her back, guarding her from any danger. She was frowning. That couldn’t be good. 

When she stood in front of him, before he could even say anything, his lovely wife stood on her tip toes and with her small hands, grabbed his neck and planted a -surprising- and passionate kiss upon his lips.

With eyes still open, he could feel her soft, warm lips on his’, and the Lannister siblings' shocked sight on them. For a moment, he just froze, wondering where did this came from or if somebody gave her milk of the poppy, or perhaps any other strange herb? But after a few seconds, he stopped thinking and closed his eyes, following her rhythm. 

Her mouth was sweet and warm and inexpert, but also fiery, and her hands firmly around his neck, pulling him even closer. Untangling his arm from Lady Cersei’s, he placed his hands around her tiny waist, and his tongue slightly massaged hers in a bold but yet subtle move. He felt her stiffen for a fraction of second when he did it, but then she continued, moving her full, hot lips and tongue against his’ clumsily. She tasted wonderful. She was intoxicating.

The next moment, she broke the kiss, and her hazel gaze was burning on him while her teeth were sinking on her lower lip, her cheeks were painted with an intense red. It all just made her look even more irresistible.  

“Husband. Lady Cersei” she greeted with a sweet voice he didn’t know she could produce, she looked at him and then threw a quick look that he couldn’t decode to Cersei Lannister. 

After that strange -and pleasant- greeting, she continued her walk. Jaime Lannister, who looked just as surprised as his sister, followed her with a cocky smile on his lips after giving his golden sister a quick look and the Prince a respectful one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was short. I know.
> 
> I tried to write this the best i could, but currently i'm suffering of a "writer's block", so i think i should rest or i don't know, i just don't feel completely satisfied with my own writing right now. Hopefully, it will pass. 
> 
> Anyway, i hope you enjoyed this, i finally brought Cersei to the story, but she's not staying for long. For now.
> 
> I don't know when i will be updating this, since i'm blocked right now... But i will try to do it as soon as possible.
> 
> Thanks for your reviews, they are all so kind and believe me, they can totally cheer an author up! :) So thank you for taking a time to write them, i really appreciate them! 
> 
> Happy easter guys! Love you :)


	16. Aftermaths

With her pounding heartbeat, that tickling feeling on her stomach and the burning sensation of his lips on hers, she closed the heavy doors of her chambers behind her, leaving a still visibly amused Jaime Lannister outside.

At least _he_ could appreciate his sister’s annoyance. But she… 

Her breathing was heavy and her hands were shaking -why was that?-, and the least of her worries were wether the smug Cersei Lannister was annoyed or not. 

What astonished her the most was her own mind, replaying over and over and over the same scene stubbornly, and the same sensations too. As if her body had them imprinted on it. She could still feel his touch on her, the way he gently placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him, and how his soft, warm lips melted with hers in that kiss.

She never expected it to be that way, she never expected it to have _that_ effect on her.

She never expected to enjoy it. And she really did.  

 _You idiot. One kiss. One fucking kiss. That was it._  

And what was she supposed to tell him when she saw him again? He was her husband, she didn’t need to explain a simple kiss, did she? It was expected of her. 

But still… Only the thought of being in front of him again sinked her in the most utter shame and despair. A man she practically swore to despise for being her captor, a man she openly rejected many times, and there she was, feeling sick because of a single fucking kiss with him that made her legs go weak and her lips feel afire and her heart pound furiously on her chest with the strength of a thousand bulls. 

Gulping heavily, she threw herself on the bed, plunging her face on a pillow and wishing the mattress would swallow her so she would never have to face him again. 

She sighed deeply, and a rabid growl escaped her lips as an indubitable sign of her frustration, the sound itself drowning helplessly on the soft velvets of the pillow that quilted her face. 

What was happening to her? 

At least she achieved her goal, and the ‘Golden Lioness of Casterly Rock’ -she thought with nuisance-, Cersei Lannister, was probably squirming on her own venom after that passionate display of affection she shared with her husband in front of her.

She never felt that way towards anyone before, Aerys, yes, but not someone she just met for a few days. With Cersei, it was different. Besides of what she heard the lioness saying the day before to Ser Jaime about her, there was something about the Cersei Lannister that bugged her beyond words, she just couldn't stand to see her or to be around her. And much less to see her flutter around _her_ husband after what she told her brother just moments before she flashed her tits for him. 

The scene she witnessed the day before stormed into her head and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had truly saw what she saw. It was anything but a game between siblings, it was a game between lovers, and she couldn’t do more than to feel disgusted by it. 

It seemed like some kind of twisted hallucination, except that it wasn’t. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hazel mixed with steely grey and pink hot lips were whirling around his head, distracting him from what was important. But he couldn’t help it.

He looked at the small piece of paper that just moments ago was hiding behind the soft velvet that covered the inside of the small chest in front of him, and even with such message written in it, he was still disperse. 

Sweeping the thoughts of his beautiful northern wife off of his head, he grabbed the tiny piece of paper with his fingers and placed it upon the flame of the candle lit on his desk, watching the evidence of his treason consumed by the orange flames and turn to nothing more but ashes. Just like the reign of his father would. 

The fire was already kissing his skin intensely, but it always surprised him how he always seemed to have more resistance to it, to the pain of being burned. He felt none. _Curious._

He took a quill and carefully sinked it in the dark ink, only to begin writing another note for the Warden of the West. He would have to give it to Lord Tywin’s daughter, he assured him she was trustworthy in his message, and after all, the whole reason behind her trip to the capital was that. She was a raven for the communication between the lion and the dragon. A very well disguised raven.

He folded the piece of paper, and sealed it. He would have to give the letter to Lady Cersei before she departed, without anyone noticing, the battle plan was in there and it could not be seen by any other pair of eyes than Tywin Lannister’s. 

Once the Lord of Casterly Rock received the letter, it would be only a matter of time and organization to make it happen. How long would it take? Moon turns? Probably. It seemed so little for someone like him, who had to live with his father’s madness for twenty one years, but it seemed too much for his mother. His sweet, caring mother, how much more would she have to endure? 

If he could only send her to Dragonstone, he would. But knowing Aerys, he would oppose and end up like barking and biting the rabid dog he was, and the only one suffering the consequences would be Rhaella. Thank the Gods, Viserys had never experienced his father’s ire. Yet.

And oh, how could he clearly remember his teenage years, he was merely a boy, those in which he naively tried to defend his mother several times, and each time, ended up not only listening to her cries at the other side of the walls while being _raped_ by that disgusting monster his father turned into, but also being held down by Aerys’ most loyal Kingsguards back then. All to make him listen. 

The day he finally learned ‘the lesson’, he remembered with sourness, was when Viserys was still on the womb, his mother’s belly was as swollen as it could be. He could still hear the loud cry she made when Aerys sank his teeth on the delicate skin of her arm, how it bled, how Aerys laughed with malice… How he put himself in the middle of his mother and that monster. And how Aerys claimed that if he interfered once more, he would not only burn him alive, but also Rhaella and make him watch first. 

His hands formed fists upon the desk. What would he do with that monster once he took the city? He could not kill his own father, he couldn’t. Perhaps send him to Dragonstone? Have him locked down in a wing of the giant structure? 

A heavy knock on the door made his thoughts dissolve in the air. 

“Come in” he quickly hid the treasonous letter he wrote moments before in a drawer. 

A young servant came in, holding a letter on his hands, a seal with a direwolf in it, he noted quickly.

“Your Highness. You have a letter, from Winterfell”  the young boy bowed down and walked to his desk, passing him the letter. 

Indeed, the letter was sealed with the direwolf sigil.  

“Did my wife receive one as well?” he asked, wondering if he was supposed to read it with Lyanna, or if there was another one for her. Or perhaps it was only for him. 

“No, Your Highness. There’s only this one, for you” 

“Fine then. You can leave. Thank you” 

The young boy bowed again, his shy eyes staring straight to the floor, and he vanished through the wooden doors like a silent mouse. 

A letter from Winterfell. He was more than intrigued. The letters from the north were usually for his wife. But this one had his name and his name only. 

With anticipation, he broke the seal and opened the letter, eager to read the content of it. And he did. 

In those gracefully written lines, Lord Rickard Stark expressed his congratulations for the victory at the tourney at Harrenhall, and his gratitude for taking care of his daughter so far. The letter seemed to be written for both of them, he and Lyanna. The Warden of The North probably believed his daughter’s marriage was a typical one, he thought.

But what called his attention was what came next. 

Lord Rickard informed them of a visit he would make to the capital with his eldest son, Brandon, and his eagerness to see him and his daughter again. 

The wolfs would be visiting King’s Landing once again.

He stood up and made his way to Lyanna’s chambers immediately, ready to drop the good news to her. She would be more than happy, and he knew that probably better than anyone. He was aware of the adoration the she-wolf held for her family, the way her eyes would throw bright sparks of pride and melancholy at the same time every time she spoke of her wolf pack. 

He greeted Ser Jaime, who was standing next to his wife’s chambers in his golden armor, he knocked her door three times, her voice resounded through the thick wood, a thin sound “Who is it?” she asked. 

“Rhaegar” he clarified, looking at the letter in his hands impatiently. 

A few seconds passed and not a single sound could be heard. “Can i come in?” he asked, trying to get any answer from her.

More silence.

“What for?” finally, her voice rang again through the wood, but this time, in a slightly higher pitch than before and sharp as a blade.  

Was she serious? Just a few hours ago she stamped her lips rough against his in a hot kiss that, wether we wanted or not, had him distracted for the rest of the afternoon. And now this. 

“I have important news” he sighed slightly irritated before her strange mood swings.  

Nothing. Again. He crossed looks with Ser Jaime Lannister, who was standing outside Lyanna’s chambers like a golden statue, but even he looked as intrigued as he was. If he didn’t understand his own wife, why would a boy?

When he was starting to believe with irritation that he would have to slip the letter under the doors and leave it there, a metallic “click” could be heard and one of the doors opened. 

With confusion, he stepped in, and Lyanna was in front of him. Or at least her back, covered by her long wavy locks, since she didn’t turn around to face him. What was she doing?

“Uhmmm… Lyanna?” he spoke, wondering what in the seven hells was going on on his unpredictable wife’s head.

“What is it? What news are those?” her voice rang like bells, and she crossed her arms on her chest, but still not turning around. What was she playing now? “Lyanna, are you okay?” he walked to her and got closer, he saw her body tremble slightly at his presence. 

Something was not right, and he didn’t care if she was upset or mad or anything at him, she was acting too strange. He grabbed her by the arm softly, and with one gentle move turned her around. 

When she turned, her face looked startled at his deed, but her brows were knitted together in a deep furrow, and her cheeks were burning in a furious scarlet tone that invaded that creamy skin of hers almost completely. 

“Lyanna” his voice was soft as velvet, but confusion was also present in it. “What?” she asked in a small voice and her stormy eyes went straight to her feet on the floor, her fingers playing nervously with each other. She looked like a child who just broke something.

How could a single person have so many moods on the same day? “A… A letter has arrived.” he began hesitantly, his eyes narrowed and he was studying her carefully, while hers were still fixed stubbornly on the floor “From Winterfell. Your Lord father and your older brother are coming to King’s Landing” he finished, expectant to see any reaction.

And when the whole sentence left his mouth, her greyish hazel orbs went quickly to him with a pinch of confusion on them, the scarlet tone on her cheeks intensified then. “W-What?” and he nodded at her confusion, licking his lips in the process. “For the Old Gods!” a small shriek came out of her mouth at the same time her hands covered it. She smiled under those delicate hands, he could notice by the way her cheeks went high. 

“This letter just arrived…” He handed her the piece of paper, enjoying her every reaction, and she took it anxiously, her sight quickly brushed the same lines he read just moments ago, and with every second, her wolfy smile only grew wider and wider. 

“Oh Gods” she claimed before dedicating him a childish grin, her teeth sinking on her lower lip as her eyes were glimmering on him. It was like she was already imagining her father and brother there in front of her.

It was no less than he expected. 

“Well… So, i guess that’s all.” he said, and he then turned and prepared himself to leave, not sure of what to expect or what to do in that moment, his wife’s moods were up and down and hot and cold that day in a confusing way that he didn’t understand. 

“Wait” her soft voice made him turn back, and he felt his brows furrowing. 

She was just like before, with her fingers moving nervously against each other, her sight down and her cheeks burning red, once again. “I…” she began, she looked so troubled, and she licked her lips before she bit her lower lip. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she looked when she did that. “I… I wanted to thank you” she hurried nervously, and he knew it was not just a ‘Thank you for bringing me the letter’. “For… Everything… You know… The night you cut your thumb and-“

“Shh” he shushed her, stepping forward towards her “You should never say that again. Walls here have ears. Or spiders.” he murmured, remembering briefly the night she was speaking about. Nobody could ever find out. 

Suddenly, standing so close to her, he noticed how a single rebel lock of dark hair was falling on her face stubbornly. 

“I know… Is just that… We haven’t spoke about it, and i… I…” words seemed to jam on her mouth, her lips remained parted between the words often, he noted.

“I know.” he got closer to her automatically “You don’t have to thank me.” his voice sounded low, too low, and he was looking straight at her, focusing on every detail of her face, the way she pressed her lips against each other, how she wouldn’t look at him. Why?

“But i want to. And…” before she continued, a troubled expression crossed her face as she cleared her throat “And i’m sorry about today” she said hurriedly, letting a breath out after.

About that day? Was she talking about the kiss? Why was she apologizing? The feeling of her hot lips and her body against his was fantastic. And she was apologizing? 

Lyanna. She just didn’t made sense. She never did. 

“You shouldn't apologize. I liked it” his voice sounded dangerously low again. In an inexplicable impulse, he leaned in, and in that moment, with such closeness between them, he was pretty sure his breath brushed her lips, because he could feel hers, hot against his skin. 

Her eyes widened like eggs when he shortened the distance between them, and her full, pink lips parted, her breath was now heavy. 

Looking at her from so close sent electricity to his extremities. Just then, he noticed… His wife was mesmerizing. Everything about her, from her hazel orbs that held that steely grey in them, her creamy skin, to those pink tempting lips of hers. And she didn’t even know.

With a slight movement, he brushed his lips against hers, and the same electricity that took over his body seconds ago was there again but with more intensity. Her eyes were closed, and he could feel her warm, agitated breath as he brushed his lips softly against hers. He could just snatch her mouth with his in that moment and kiss her hard.

The strident sound of glass crashing into the floor broke the moment, and Lyanna jumped back like a frightened cat in a second. “I-I’m so sorry” a strange, feminine voice and a surprised gasp was all they heard after that. An extremely embarrassed handmaiden was standing there, frozen on the frame of the door that connected Lyanna’s chambers to the washroom, with a troubled expression on her face and a plate with several tiny bottles of rose oil. One of them shattered on the floor. _Such an opportune interruption._ He thought.

Lyanna looked like a marble statue, her features were tense, and then, he knew. The moment was gone. 

He sighed heavily. 

He took a few steps towards her again, but this time, her eyes were wary on him. 

When he stood in front of her, she gulped heavily and she looked like she was about to say something, but only a pointless stuttering came out of her as her eyes were avoiding him insistently. “I-I…I…” What was it that was so hard for her to say? 

It didn’t matter anymore. 

To her -and his- surprise, he placed a hand behind her head, and with delicacy, planted a sweet kiss on her forehead that, to him, lasted for an eternity as her delicious winter rose scent invaded his senses again that day. 

With a clenched jaw and a small weight on his throat, he turned around, and left her chambers. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So, i came back. It's been 10 days, and those had been more than enough!
> 
> Thank you all for your kind comments, they really REALLY help me :) and keep me inspired!
> 
> This chapter was more a filler. Or a transition chapter (?) i don't know! 
> 
> I hope you liked the interaction here! Oh, and next chapter, we're gonna have Brandon's POV too. So yeah. 
> 
> If you have any sugerence, just leave it down and i'll read it and answer you back, if you have any observations, feel free to leave it on a comment too! I'm glad to read your opinions on the story! 
> 
> Anyway, i hope you all enjoyed your weekend! Lots of love for you guys haha


	17. Pack of Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm, this all happened probably a month after chapter 16... and i'm clarifying it just for those who don't know that Winterfell is probably one month away from King's Landing, if riding... :)

“Father! Brandon!” her reaction was immediate, but the first to receive it was her father as she clashed into his chest and encircled him in a tight hug that felt so much like home to her. 

It felt like ages had passed, but yet, Brandon and her father looked exactly the same to her, her brother was still the same tall, strong builded wolf with the same fierce eyes she remembered, and her father… He looked just the same, the seriousness, the cold stare to everyone but to her. 

Seeing part of her pack again after so long felt like a whiff of fresh air.  

“Lyanna…” Lord Rickard’s husky voice rolled over the words, a serene smile crossing his face as he fixed his cold steely eyes on her “How we’ve missed you, my child” a small, warm smile that was quiet unusual on him could be seen. 

She sinked her face on his chest again. How she missed her father. How she missed her Brandon. How did she resist so much time without them? So much time _alone_. Surrounded by people, but always alone.

“I missed you too.” she said “You have no idea how much” she tightened her embrace then around Lord Rickard, wishing they could stay forever. Or maybe wishing that she could leave with them.

“Your Highness” she heard Brandon, and then her father, greeting at her royal husband behind her. She didn’t care, she still didn’t let go of him. She heard Rhaegar greeting them back with his usually pleasant voice, reciting words of courtesy for them, and she didn’t need to see him to know he was wearing one of his charming smiles upon his lips. “I hope the journey hadn’t been too heavy, my Lords” he said.

“No journey is heavy enough to see my little sister again” Brandon spoke with a wolfy smile upon his face, and Lyanna directed her eyes to him. By the look both shared, she knew perfectly well that instead of ‘My little sister’ he was thinking more of ‘The little beast’.  

“Well, we were eager to your receive you here, my Lords” Rhaegar smiled again showing his perfectly aligned set of white teeth, and sent a look to Lyanna which she could only respond by flushing vaguely when a small flashback of the afternoon when she received the letter that announced the visit of her kin appeared on her head. For how much longer would she blush at the simple thought of it?

“I hope my daughter hasn’t been causing you too many headaches, Prince Rhaegar” the Warden of the North spoke, and Lyanna felt like she could throw a laughter any time. If he only knew. 

About the Knight of The Laughing Tree, about the consummation… 

“Not at all” Rhaegar answered, an acknowledgement grin adorning his face gave his answer a less serious reading. She couldn't help but recall her first weeks with him and how she tried her best to be a headache for him, to keep him as far away from her as she could with her hostile manners. If anything, he was being more than kind with that response.

Her brother seemed amused by the answer Rhaegar gave, and apparently read as well as she did that little grin on his face. “I shan’t believe that for a moment, Your Highness”  Brandon would know, better than anyone in fact, how much of a headache she could be. Even if Benjen was always her first sidekick, Brandon was one to get involved on her follies very often, and the three of them always ended up grounded on Winterfell, generally, thanks to her ideas. 

“Oh, shut up Brandon” she gave him a soft punch on the arm which he received with an amused expression on his face.

Before any of them could say anything else, the sound of hurried steps draw everyone’s attention, and in the middle of the hallway, a Targaryen guard was hurriedly walking towards them in his black and red armor, almost running, his face was the face of a man who had just seen a ghost. “My Prince!” the man bawled, his brows were arched down in a concerned expression, and when she looked at Rhaegar, he had the same one. “My Prince, Princess, My Lords…” the man acknowledged them quickly, trying to be as courteous as possible in the middle of his exasperation “It’s the King” the guard almost shrieked when his words were directed at Rhaegar, and took a deep breath before speaking again “He has summoned you to the throne room _immediately_. He wants you there _now_ ” he clearly accentuated the last part of his sentence, letting Rhaegar and everyone else know about the urgency of the matter and how that despicable attempt of a King couldn’t wait. Oh, how she hated him. He probably shouted at the poor man before he went to them.

Rhaegar nodded to the exasperated guard, and then looked at Lord Stark and Brandon in an apologetic way, his lips making a little grimace. “I’m sorry my Lords, but i must leave” he said, he sounded almost ashamed, and Lyanna knew that with Aerys, it was always like that. On the inside, Rhaegar was probably concerned.

“Don’t worry about us, Your Highness. It is your royal duty to attend your father’s requests.” Lord Rickard gave him a look she could not quiet decode, but apparently, Rhaegar did, and he nodded at her father. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lords, Lyanna.” 

That being said, the Dragon Prince began his march towards his Red Keep, with his swirling scarlet cloak behind him and the Targaryen guard following him in his way to attend one of his father’s follies, probably. 

Looking at her own father in that moment, the honorable Lord Rickard Stark, a man of justice and temperance, she thought of what it would be like to be the daughter of Aerys II Targaryen. How did Rhaegar ended up being the man he was and not a crazy lunatic or a spoiled child? The only answer to her question was Rhaella. The beautiful, lovely and battered Targaryen Queen. 

What an admirable, strong woman. 

What would she do if she married a man like Aerys? If Rhaegar, instead of being the noble man he was, was like Aerys? 

Her stomach twirled in disgust, and she tried to dissipate the feeling, the same grim feeling she had when Aerys threatened to rape her some time ago in front of Rhaella, Rhaegar and even little Viserys. “Ugh, i hate that _‘King’_ ” she spitted the title with as much hatred as she could, as if it burned her tongue as her silver husband vanished in the hallway. 

“Lyanna!” her father seemed alarmed, and he probably had the right to be. Only for saying that, her head could be decorating a spike on the walls of the Red Keep. If he only knew. If her father only knew of all the horrible things Aerys did, all the horrible things he tried to do to _her_. Directly and indirectly.

She could still hear his threat to Rhaegar in her head. _‘Fuck the she-wolf tonight. If you don’t… I will do it myself. And then i will give her to the guards. I’m sure they will enjoy your little maiden just as much as i will’_. His words were still vividly imprinted on her mind, it made her feel sick with disgust, because she knew… She knew he would be capable of such horrendous act. 

If he had no problem with burning guards at Harrenhall just because they couldn’t find the Knight of The Laughing Tree that time, he would have no problem raping his son’s wife. 

“You don’t know… How horrible he is” she let it escape in a whisper charged with too much abhorrence, still abstracted on her thoughts. At the second, she regretted it. What was she thinking? She would only concern Brandon and her father. 

And apparently, she did. Lord Rickard’s expression was one of concern, and so was Brandon’s. “Did he do anything to you?” Brandon hurried his words out of his mouth and his voice sounded probably louder than he wished, his worried grimace turned into an angry one, and she could see the rage building up inside him. _I_

_f you only knew._

_Brandon would be capable of anything._

“No. He didn’t” she said, clarifying it quickly, looking at her father in search for any sign of relieve. And she found it, as his steely grey eyes searched for confirmation on hers. 

Brandon took two steps towards her, his hands grabbed her arms gently, but his eyes were raged with the fury of a titan “If he does anything, Lyanna, i swear i’ll-“ 

“You shall do nothing, Brandon!” Lord Rickard’s steel-like voice cut his enraged words off, and Brandon only looked at him in disbelief “Lyanna… You should be more careful here. This place is not Winterfell, and this is your home now” his voice was steel, and so were his warningly eyes on her “Your insolent words are treason. Don’t play with that _ever_ again.” 

She could only nod in understanding, she, better than anyone, knew what Aerys was capable of and how unstable he was. Her father was right in giving her such a reprimand, she had been careless in letting those words out of her mouth in such a dangerous place, inside the walls of that Red Keep.

Brandon let a snort out “What? We just leave her here? Alone? She doesn’t even know how to take care of herself! That’s painfully evident!” he pointed to her with both hands as if she was a little child, and the urge to sink her fist on his face was burning her from inside. How dared him? She was the one living there, she was the one who had to live there for months without them, and she had not a single scratch on her. 

“Shut up, Brandon! What do you know besides drinking in taverns? I’m the one who’s been living here” she snapped and her fists clenched. 

He turned his enraged gaze to her, and if anyone else would be scared by it, she would only return it with the same icy intensity, two faces of the same coin they were. “I know much more than a foolish girl who can't even keep her tongue quiet for her own good!” he barked at her, but she didn’t  lessen the fire of defiance in her eyes, and neither the strength in her voice “As if you would hold yourself back, Brandon! You-“

“Enough!” their father’s voice raged like a thunder between them and kept them quiet, but the intensity of the stares did not go down. “Behave! Stop acting like fools, you both.” 

She bit her tongue, she didn’t want to spoil her first encounter with her father and brother after so much time, but Brandon would always get on her nerves, and their fights were not an uncommon thing back in Winterfell. Why did he always had to take her for a dumb little girl in his attempt to protect her?

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur gave him a quick wary look as soon as he entered the throne room, still as a golden statue in a white cloak next to Aerys, his friend’s face was a mask of tranquility hiding wariness behind it, he knew it just too well.

Sitting in the throne, surrounded by four of his Kingsguards, Aerys looked sick, thin as a broomstick from his paranoid fear of eating, fear or _everything_ lately. It looked like the chair itself was gonna swallow him alive. Little drops of blood stained the sleeves of his purple tunic, coming from the cuts on his hands and arms made by some sharp parts of the swords the iron throne was made of. Ironically, it appeared as if the throne itself was rejecting Aerys. 

“You, boy” the King’s raspy voice resounded across the room as Rhaegar bowed down to him under his pale lilac gaze “Your Grace” Rhaegar responded, standing straight at the base of the throne, in front of him. 

“The Starks, those wolfs!” Aerys growled “Keep an eye on those _treasonous_ wolfs. I don’t trust them, Rhaegar. Specially that boy. They came here earlier to hail, but i don’t like them. I don’t trust them. I don’t like the way that young wolf stared at me” he tightened his grip on the arms of the throne, and Rhaegar could only thank the Gods his father’s madness didn’t drove him to punish the older brother of her wife simply because he didn’t like the way he stared. It would not be strange, coming from him.

“You don’t have to worry about them, father. I’ll watch them” he tried to calm the King’s moods, softening his voice as much as he could, just like he would do it every time these situations were presented to him. 

Aerys stirred in his beloved iron throne, and his eyes narrowed at his son “At the slightest sign of treason, i’ll put their melted heads on spikes!” he warned, his face reddened in anger for a few seconds, and his lilac eyes burned with the most wrathful madness. His next words would have to be chosen carefully if he didn’t want to add fuel to the folly the King was proposing. “It won’t have to come to that, father. I’ll see to it. Leave it to me”  it sickened him to have to answer to such incoherent and dangerous threats as if he was perfectly fine with them. But claiming that the Starks would never try anything against him would only make things worse.

“Be useful for once, Rhaegar” Aerys spitted, and Rhaegar thought of all the work he had, of all the small council’s meetings he had to attend in all those years, even when he was just a boy, and he could just suppress a laugh of irony. He knew and he did much more for those Seven Kingdoms than his father, the King, would ever do and know. All he cared about was wildfire and suffering. “And i want you to attend the Court tomorrow. You, and that wolf-bitch of yours” he added, showing his yellowed teeth in a grim smile. 

Rhaegar kept his facade intact, but inside, revulsion was flooding him from knowledge. Knowledge of the reason behind those trials Aerys liked so much. The smell of burnt flesh took over him, images of those bodies blackened and frizzled by wildfire in that same place he was standing in. He couldn't make Lyanna watch something like that. He couldn’t.

“Perhaps, my wife should stay with her Lord father and her brother, Your Grace. Their stance is quiet brief” he suggested, only hoping that the King was in a good mood that day. 

“Either she attends, or she’ll be punished” he sentenced, and Rhaegar’s hopes fell down.

Lyanna would have to witness the atrocities of his father, and it sickened him to picture her attending that damned court of his where so many died burned alive. Either she was there, or she would be punished in some awful way.

All he could do in that moment was to leave. As soon as he was dismissed, a quick flash of silver and a scarlet cloak was all the presents at the throne room saw as he swept out of there, his rage building up higher and higher inside of him and he thought he would explode at any moment. 

His fist crashed against a stone on the wall so hard his knuckles were achy and they probably were scratched, but he couldn’t care less and kept his eyes closed tightly trying to calm himself down. A hand on his shoulder made him turn his head, and dark indigo encountered with pale violet filled with the warmth of a lavender field under the sun.  “Mother”.

She caressed his cheek as he turned, her sweet warm eyes were fixed on him with tenderness. “What did he do now, son?” her silky voice asked. Looking beyond her, he could see Viserys laughing and chasing a butterfly on the gardens.

“He wants Lyanna to attend Court tomorrow.” he snorted putting a hand on his forehead and the other one on his hip, his sight went from innocent Viserys to her, and his mother’s mien turned as grim as his for a second. “She’s a strong girl, my son.” 

She was. She truly was. But that was no reason to submit her to watch such atrocious acts, he thought. “Sometimes i wonder if the good man you once told me he was before really existed. Or if i imagined it all as a child” his voice sounds like a murmur, and his mind went back to many years ago, trying to figure out if the few good memories of his father he had, were in fact nothing but a product of his imagination. Rhaella lowered her sight, and her face acquired a sad air that made her look like the Queen in grief so many claimed her to be.

“He was, my son. But he is no longer that man”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I see you look like a southron lady now” Brandon’s teeth showed in a grin “But underneath those fancy silks, lays the same northern beast”  he only watched as his sister’s expression furrowed down and down and down. Just like earlier that day. 

His sister looked different, not a single hair was out of place, her dresses were too different from the ones she used to wear back in Winterfell -the scarlet dress she was wearing in that moment was not the exception-, and even her skin looked a little less paler than it usually would be. He never imagined to see her like that. _The effects of being a princess._ But underneath it all, glimpses of the same Lyanna showed him that even if her appearance seemed more lady like, the wild girl from the north was still there, their earlier quarrel was proof of it. 

Nothing better than a welcoming quarrel with his little sister.

“You know, i’m a Princess now, i could have you on a dungeon if you keep annoying me” she threatened with a cocky smile on as she leaned forward on her elbows, and her sight got lost on the agitated sea of King’s Landing beneath them. 

She sent him a devilry look, her smile was wide, and they both laughed, a sign that the earlier bad blood between them was now gone.

Just like it had always been. 

Who would’ve said Lyanna would end up being a Princess? And he… He was about to marry the Tully girl. How years had passed, and how he would prefer his earlier years in Winterfell before becoming the Warden of The North and having that weight on his shoulders. 

The silly talks he used to have with his sister about leaving to Essos suddenly echoed in his mind, children talking about leaving everything behind and going on an adventure to the free cities to become sellswords. He would do it now, if he only didn’t have a leash around his neck holding him to his future wife and lands and titles. Was it really going to end like that? 

“Are you happy, Lya?” he asked when he adopted the same position as his sister, elbows leaned forward atop the wall of rock in front of them, his eyes straight on the horizon of a golden sunset the capital was giving them, and the salty air on his nose. 

He felt her greyish stare on him, and it seemed like the only sound between them was the sound of waves crashing against the stones bellow them insistently. 

“I don’t know” was her honest answer, and then he was the one who had to turn his head to her, her greyish orbs acquired a golden dye with the rays of the sunset in them. “I truly don’t” her confusion was evident once again, she blinked a few times and then accommodated a lock of hair behind her ear, preparing herself for what she was about to say. “At the beginning i hated it. I hated everything about this place. And everyone.”

He knew that perfectly well. “And now?” he asked, expectant of her answer.

“And now i don’t know. I don’t… Hate it.” she said, looking at her own hands as if she was having an internal struggle “I don’t love it, but i don’t hate it either. I do miss you, father, Ned and Benjen, all the time” she said with a spark of melancholy that was more than evident to him. 

He wondered what made her change. Would he ever adapt to his future life? Would he ever accept it? “I guess things were not as bad as i pictured them in my head before leaving Winterfell…” she spoke again, now looking at the sunset in front of them, her eyes narrowing at the golden touch of the sun against her skin. 

“Huh… What made you change your mind?” he asked, intrigued. The capital did not seem like the type of place his little sister would like or accept easily. But there she was, claiming she didn’t hate it. 

She made a little grimace with her mouth, as if thinking of the correct answer to give him. “People.” she simply said “I pictured my life very differently from what it is now. I imagined i would be… A forced wife. A mere broodmare to carry Princes and Princesses. That my will would be bended here and that i would become grey and sad and miserable. But i didn’t.” 

She seemed surprised by her own words.

He wondered many times if the Crown Prince was the right man for her sister, if he would have the patience to deal with her, if he would not hurt her in order to fulfill his -and her- duty as husband and wife. The single thought used to charge his veins with the most pure rage. But her words, those calmed words she was reciting… They showed him the opposite. 

“So your Dragon Prince is not that bad, huh?”

“He truly is not bad at all” she murmured, her fingers were clutched to one another and she was biting her lip. Lyanna usually bitted her lip when she was anxious. “Why are you asking me all of this?” she shook her head slightly.

Maybe it was his lack of will to fulfill _his_ duty as future Warden of the North, his search for answers that could maybe assure him that he would properly accomplish this duty in his little sister’s experience. He could not think of anyone more like him than her. 

But he should’ve known better. Even if she was just like him, she was still a girl, and they usually tended to be softer, in his experience.

“Curiosity. That’s all” he sighed, and she gave him a suspicious look. “Tell me” she demanded with inquisitive eyes. “Come on, speak.” she demanded again with a tone that suggested she wouldn’t give up until he told her. “Brandon, speak, now.”

He could still hear his sister complaining and whining for him to explain his earlier questions to her  in an irritating way when he saw her, a vision in purple silks, with her long straight raven hair and her sun kissed skin flashing through the openings of that dornish looking dress, wandering around that place carelessly. 

“Would shut up and tell me who that is?” he cut her right then, pointing his finger in one direction, and his sister turned around to see the lady he was talking about right away. 

“That? That’s Ashara Dayne… She’s one of my ladies-in-waiting. Why?” she asked, and he grinned in a suggestive manner.

Her mouth parted and her brows furrowed in displeasure “Brandon!” she whined in a high pitched voice, her arms were crossed upon her chest, and she could very well be a monument to indignation in that moment.  

“Lyanna!” he answered her in ridiculous high pitched voice that imitated hers, and that only made her brows furrow deeper and his grin go wider. 

In the middle of her apparent indignation, she seemed to find the words she wanted to speak “You! You are to be married to Lady Catelyn. Gods, is it so hard for you to keep it in your pants? Ugh” she complained, but he wasn’t listening.

Ashara Dayne was her name. One of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen, that was for sure.  

“I’m not married yet, dear sister” he cynically commented, and her mouth curved down, but he couldn't care less since that beautiful woman was then staring in their direction and sent him a smile that only delighted him even more.  

Lyanna looked back and waved at the lady, only to turn with an angry face back at Brandon “Well, i would like to see you smile like that when her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne, kicks your ass for being such a prick” 

For a woman like that… He would let his ass be beaten a thousand times.

 


	18. A Storm of Wildfire

When Ser Jonothor Darry, with that coarse tone in his voice and his black inexpressive eyes informed her of the royal command that weighed upon her early in the morning, she could only nod in agreement and swallow her words. Aerys’ most loyal Kingsguard would not accept a negative as a response, she knew. Why would the King ask for her presence in court? Why was it so important that he _ordered_ her to assist? 

She would find out. 

If she could only find Rhaegar. But it looked like her silver husband had been swallowed by the earth, she could not find him in any of the places she usually did, he wasn’t in his chambers, he wasn’t at a small council’s meeting, and he certainly wasn’t at the garden either. But Brandon was, and in pretty good company. She could see her older brother throwing mischievous smiles at Lady Ashara, smiles she returned filled with some kind of spark.

That spark she knew, she had seen it in the smiles Lady Barbrey Ryswell used to bestow to Brandon before. And it ended in tears and a scandal her father had to fix. 

This new affair of her brother could not end well. 

She would deal with her older brother later, and she definitely would do it.

“Excuse me!” she rose her voice loud enough for the guard that was about to disappear into a hallway to hear her. The man quickly approached her. “Have you seen Prince Rhaegar?” she asked with eagerness before the man could even say anything. 

“Aye, Princess. I believe he went to the maidenvault” 

_The maidenvault?_

Lyanna thanked the man, and began to walk towards the slate-roofed building of the keep. What was he doing there anyway? 

The two tall carved doors were wide open, and as she entered, the familiar white stones of the building surrounded her, reminding her of her first days in King’s Landing, when she was not installed on Maegor’s Holdfast yet and that was her place.

It seemed so long ago. 

When she lazily climbed the steps in front of her, she barely heard blurry voices ahead of her, and she knew both. One, was the ever-pleasant voice of Rhaegar. The other one, she hated and to her, it was like hearing nails against a chalkboard.

She hurried to where the voices could be heard, holding the grey silks of her dress in both hands as she climbed up the stairs. 

With a few more steps up, the image of the dragon and the lioness emerged like a painting in front of her, and Rhaegar passed a small case to the Lannister lady dressed in a lovely blue gown that fell perfectly upon her figure. Was he actually giving her a gift? How _dared_ he?! The flirty smile on the lady’s pink lips said it all, and even if she couldn’t hear exactly what she said to him, she guessed she was thanking _her_ husband for the gift. 

The words Cersei Lannister recited weeks ago to her twin pranced in her head with mockery, and she felt the rage boiling inside her. 

Following her first impulse, and guided by her wolf blood, her pace towards them began like an inevitable storm approaching the shore, and as she was getting closer and closer, the lioness of Casterly Rock had already entered her chambers with her lovely golden curls falling graciously on her back. 

But he would have to explain. 

Making her steps more and more loud on purpose, her silver husband turned to her, tall and handsome in that _stupid_ black doublet that only highlighted his valyrian features and contrasted strongly with the scarlet fabric crossing his chest handsomely, only to find her greyish gems storming upon him. Oh, if she could only send thunderbolts to him, she gladly would. 

“Lyanna, i was about to-“ 

“Why did you give her a gift?” she interrupted him, her arms were crossed upon her chest and it only made her breasts pop out a little bit from the cleavage of that grey gown she was in.

His expression showed nothing more than confusion for a few seconds, he blinked a few times in doubt, and then, before speaking again, his full lips curved slowly into an amused smile that only made her nerves go to the edge. 

“It wasn’t for her” his smile was only the lift of a corner of his mouth then “It was for her father, Lord Tywin” he added.

The explanation sounded more than logical, but, the irking sensation on her chest wouldn't go away. "And why are you sending 'Lord Tywin' a gift?" she questioned him instantly.

Rhaegar looked at her in disbelief, his eyes blinking quickly as if trying to understand her behavior. "For the sake of politeness” he chuckled, and she sent him a sharp look that only made him chuckle once again.

_Idiot._

Lyanna tried to dissipate the feeling of shame spreading across her head as soon as she felt her cheeks acquiring that undesirable crimson tone that always betrayed her in the most inconvenient moments, and quickly changed the subject. "Why does your father want me in court?" She asked, her eyes focused on a spot in the stone walls of the building. 

At the mention of it, his expression hardened instantly, and those indigo pools looked grim for a brief moment. "What?" She asked again, and he pushed a lock of his silvery hair behind his ear, a pant leaving his mouth. "I wanted to talk to you about that" he paused for a moment “We have to attend. And Lyanna… I need you not to react there.”

“React? To what?” 

He looked troubled, that she could say.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything reckless” his eyes were begging behind some rebel strands of silver that crossed his face, and without thinking it twice she nodded, her gaze traveling from his indigo gems to his half-closed mouth, and to his eyes again.

How could she say no?

Under her husband’s supplicant gaze, she promised to keep her wolf blood cool and calm with a simple nod. And she only hoped she could keep her promise if something happened. 

 “We shall go now. Come.” he extended his hand to her, and without hesitance, she took it. 

The way to the throne room never seemed so long… Anxiety was eating her up from inside, a sense of tragedy rooted in her as soon as she saw the faces of the guards, still and hard as stone as they proceeded to the throne room. 

She squeezed Rhaegar’s hand in an involuntary gesture, and she felt his grip tighten around her hand slightly as a response, the eyes of those present in that room were following them insistently and voices, whispering, were mixing all together to create nothing but a confusing noise.

In front of them, the Iron Throne rose imposingly with it’s sharp blades fused together, and Aerys was sitting in it, surrounded by his white cloaks. 

She lowered her gaze, the sight of that man sickened her and at the same time sent chills to her spine as if she was in front of an “other”, as her Old Nan would call those undead creatures of her stories.  

Rhaella, sitting at the base of the throne, looked like a beautiful marble sculpture, contrasting strongly with her husband. With her back straight and her hands crossed upon her knees, her silvery blonde hair was tucked in tresses on the back of her head. Her stillness broke when she sent Lyanna a warm smile that was probably meant to ease her, and she only returned the gesture to the Targaryen Queen with kindness.

“Well, well… _Finally_ , you have _honored_ us with your presence in court, Princess” Aerys’ voice almost made her jump, his stare was fixed on her and it felt like having a longbow pointing to her, ready to shoot at any time at the slightest mistake. 

Rhaegar curtsied before his father, and encouraged her to do the same with a quick look.

“Your Grace.” she responded to his venomous comment in the most neutral tone she could produce, and followed Rhaegar to her velvet-cushioned seat besides him. 

“Ser Jaime” the King called out to the golden Lannister knight, his emerald green eyes were wide open when the King called his name “Bring the accused in. Now” Aerys’ gruff voice ordered, and the Lannister knight, with a deadly silence, proceeded. 

Ser Jaime left and after a few moments appeared again, but with a gaoler and eight prisoners behind him. 

For two hours, the room kept quiet, listening to Aerys’ judgement upon the prisoners, and four had already been assigned to a punishment. She could only sit there and watch them, but not really. Her mind would often drift to the most trivial things, Brandon and Lady Ashara in the gardens sharing mischievous smiles, the bored expression Ser Jaime had on his face, as if he could just yawn at anytime, the way Rhaegar’s nose-bridge was perfectly straight as if it were sculpted by the most gifted artisan.  

The announce of the next prisoners made her blink a few times, waking her up from her momentary dreaminess, and she had to blink a few times to adjust her sight to the last ones to be judged. 

A man and a woman, in ragged clothes and with dirty faces, holding hands shakily. But what draw her attention were the two children hidden behind them, their small hands were clutched to the woman’s tattered skirts at each side of it, and their scared eyes barely even peeped from behind. What harm could those children do to be in court and about to be judged?

“The crimes?” the King demanded, and the gaoler prepared himself to speak. “Stealing food. Several times. But a gold cloak caught them this time” the man grinned.

The man, even with the chains around his ankles, hurried desperately “Your Grace! Please! We were hungry, we just wanted to eat something. Our boys had’ve not eaten in days. Mercy, please! I beg of you! They have no fault!” the man’s voice sounded broken at the end, and his hand released the hold on the woman’s hand, his knees crashed against the marble floor of the room as he ducked his head before the King.

Lyanna threw a glance at them, and it was not hard to say that they were concerningly malnourished, the woman’s jutting bones were a clear sign, and Lyanna could only wonder how desperate they must’ve been.

“Kill them” Aerys sentenced, boredom exuding from his words in contrast with the prisoners’ horrified, scared stares. 

Before she could even process anything, she took air into her mouth to object, to stop that madness, but Rhaegar’s hand on one of her legs, pressing down on her made her turn her gaze from that unfortunate family to him with rage. His indigo eyes were throwing a silent warning towards her, and she could only send him a silent entreaty, her heart beating fast. _Do something! Do something!_

And with a slight movement that she could barely perceive, he nodded. 

“Your Grace” Rhaegar’s voice sounded in the room, and the King turned to his son with expectant pale lilac eyes. “Perhaps you could spare their lives and find another suitable punishment. Maybe you could assign heavy works for them, to make them useful” Rhaegar proposed, and Lyanna’s heart was racing fast waiting for an answer.

“And why would i do that?” the King cackled with malice, and she wondered what could cause him to laugh in that twisted mind of his “They die. And that’s my last word” he barked, his yellowish teeth showing in a smile.

“Perhaps you could spare the children’s lives, at least.” he paused for a moment, and Lyanna followed his gaze to where the gaoler was standing “Did they steal as well?” Rhaegar’s voice was unbending as steel, and the question was directed to the gaoler. The man took a few seconds of silence before speaking. Behind him, the prisoners stood with the same horrified expression, but a small pinch of hope seemed to root in their eyes. The hope of a father and a mother to keep their children alive.

“They were _with_ them when they stole, Your Highness.” the gaoler said doubtfully.

“Which means they did not take anything” Rhaegar implied.

“No, Your Highness. They… They did not _take_ anything” the man faltered.

Aerys let a growl escape him, and Lyanna could feel for a brief moment the weight of his stare upon her and Rhaegar. “Very well then” the King said, and for the first time in several minutes she felt like she could breathe freely again. 

Still, she could feel a knot on her throat, getting tighter and tighter. If the children's lives were spared, their parents would not survive. 

The woman kneeled and hugged both little boys in a tight embrace, tears were soaking her dirty face and her distressing sobs took over the place like a sorrowful song of death. 

What took her by surprise, was the woman’s smile while crying. She was happy. Happy that her boys would have a future, that they would not die, that they would survive to see another day. Even if it was without her, and without their father.

“But” the King’s sudden intervention froze the blood in her veins, and that crooked smile of his augured nothing good. “I shall give these boys a good example of what happens when you steal” he cackled. “Lord Rossart!” he shouted.

The pyromancer, at the mention of his single name, snapped his fingers, and several servants brought a stake inside the throne room. 

“Ser Jaime. Ser Jonothor.” Aerys named them, and judging by their quick response, they knew what they had to do.

Ser Jonothor was the first to march towards them, firm and cold as rock, and Ser Jaime followed him with what appeared to her, was the most utter contradiction on his face, as if his body was acting without his mind’s consent. 

Lyanna’s eyes met Rhaegar’s hardened ones for a brief moment before the woman was whisked away by Ser Jonothor in an unnecessary gruff manner, Ser Jaime behind him with the man following him willingly. 

_Stop! Stop! Stop!_

Their hands were tied to the stake, and the little boys’ cries were piercing her ears and her heart. She wanted to say something, anything, but Rhaegar’s eyes wary on her, the invisible threat was evident even for her.  

With a single arrow and her longbow she could end all that. A single arrow that could pierce Aerys’ fragile body easily. 

“Now!” the King’s shout surpassed the boys’ cries in her ears, and it wasn't long until the cries became desperate screams. Two Targaryen guards were holding the boys by the shoulders as they stirred violently in commotion when Lord Rossart threw a pot filled with green liquid on the base of the stake, the man had the same malicious and mad eyes Aerys had, and with a twisted smile on his face, he lit the bottom of the stake, where the feet of the prisoners were. The intense blaze became alive in an instant in a green hurricane of fire raging under them, and it wasn’t long until the entire keep could hear their desperate screams of pain. 

She closed her eyes tightly, but the smell of roasted meat and the sound of fire burning, mixed with screams of pain and despair seemed to slash sharp and deep within her. She could feel the tears threatening to leave her eyes, so she squeezed Rhaegar’s hand shakily, and he clutched his fingers with hers. 

After minutes of horror, the entire room was silent, except for the cries of the two boys who were on the floor with faces soaked in tears calling for their parents. 

On the stake, two roasted, blackened bodies lied tied to it, immobile, the green flames still consuming what was left of them. 

Aerys’ laughter never seemed so strident, and when she moved her blurry sight to him, the feeling of disgust only grew inside her. From her spot, she could see a bulge forming between the King’s legs as he laughed.

Her stomach felt heavy, she felt her blood rushing in her body so fast that, for a second, everything blackened in front of her, and when she thought she was going to lose consciousness, she didn’t.

But how she wished she did. 

Everything that followed, she did not pay attention to. 

Lyanna bursted into tears as soon as the King abandoned the place, taking Rhaella with him. 

Everything was a blur, a messy, burning blur that stunned her and left her crying in rage and sadness and impotence all together. 

When she felt a strong pair of arms surrounding her and holding her head against his chest, she didn’t need to open her eyes to know her silver husband was there. 

When she instinctively wrapped her arms around him, uncontrollable sobs began to escape her and she felt his embrace tightening around her as her tears drenched the scarlet fabric on his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hours had passed, and not even the sweet scent of the roses of that beautiful garden or the salty winds coming from the sea could send away the smell of roasted flesh imprinted on her memory, the heartrending screams were still vivid, all of it with overwhelming clarity that lashed her mind and soul over and over again. 

The worst of all was the sense of impotence that took over her and was still under her skin, she was useless, she did nothing. She only remained frozen in her seat, watching them burn in angry green storms of wildfire.

A soft touch on her bare shoulder made her turn her glassy, reddened eyes, and she found Rhaella behind her, giving her a maternal look she never felt before in her entire life. 

“Lyanna” the Queen called her out with her honey-sweet voice, and even in the darkness that surrounded them, with only the weak moonlight and gleams of orange coming from the -in that moment- undesirable torches, Lyanna could see the dark purple bruises on her chest and neck, staining her porcelain looking skin brutally. She felt the urge to deviate her sight from her, but she didn’t. “I know exactly how you are feeling” 

Lyanna turned her greyish orbs to the Targaryen Queen, and she could not think of anyone who had suffered the King’s madness more than her. 

“I… I didn’t do anything, i just-“ 

“ _Nobody_ could do anything.” Rhaella cut her with softness “Rhaegar convinced Aerys to spare the children’s lives, and he could achieve it only because his father was in a good mood. My sweet girl, don’t torture yourself over what happened today”

“I wish i could wash the memory away” she lowered her gaze, feeling her head beating, causing her a mild pain that only augured a headache.

The Queen lifted her chin with a finger, and hazel encountered lavender as their eyes met. “You are strong. In some way, you remind me of myself when i was your age, my sweet girl” she smiled at her “But you won’t have the same fate i had. You won’t, i can promise you that” Rhaella paused for a few seconds, her hand cupping Lyanna’s cheek gently “Rhaegar will never hurt you. He’s noble and kind, and he cares about you.”

“I know” she said in a small voice, and she felt a warm feeling spreading across her chest, soothing the earlier bad sensations that invaded her.

Only then she realized she didn’t feel lonely anymore. The feeling of loneliness had been gone for a while, but only then she realized.

“Then you have to be strong. Someday you shall be Queen, Lyanna. Remember that.” 

The Queen gave her a last tender smile, and her eyes focused on something behind Lyanna as she spoke “Now, i’ll leave you two alone, sweet girl”

Rhaella, with her usual grace, began to walk away, but before she faded away in the darkness of those gardens, she turned her head and dedicated a tender gaze at someone behind Lyanna. 

When she turned, her silver prince was standing right behind her.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, i was planning on making this longer, but honestly... I wrote this on a hurry, so i will split this in two...


	19. A Game of Beer and Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i thought i would upload this chapter tonight, but! I found the time and i finished the chapter before, so here you go...

When she turned, her silver prince was standing right behind her.

Under the weak moonlight, his ivory skin acquired a paler tone, and his silvery tresses gleamed dimly, giving him an ethereal air that had her staring longer than she wished. 

Without words, he approached her like a silent ghost, his sad eyes were fixed on her, and when he stopped right in front of her, the warm glow of the torches caressed his skin from afar, delineating the lines of his sharp features in orange and black tones. The only sound that could be heard was the one of the waves colliding against the spiky rocks at the base of the Keep, down the walls. 

“I’ve been looking for you” he whispered, his voice was deep and soft, and she couldn’t help but to think of how pleasant and enjoyable his vocals were, and how sometimes it could sound harder than steel and at the same time soft as velvet. 

She hummed, and her mouth wrinkled in a grimace “What for?” she murmured.

“I wanted to know how you were” he simply said.

“Fine” she lied, and flashes of jade green flames hit her, as if trying to mock her and her poor answer.

“I see you’re not a good liar” he observed with a weak grin, and she deflected her sight somewhere else. “As if lying could be considered a virtue” she snorted.

He passed beside her, only to lean back on the walls, with his elbows supporting him. “In King’s Landing? You could consider it a virtue.” 

She joined him and leaned back next to him, and the salty breeze rampaged her hair wildly against her face “Huh… Are you a virtuous one?” he chuckled in response, and those pearly white teeth peeped from the gap between his lips in a small smile. “Maybe” 

She guessed he had to be a great liar. Or at least to have great control of his temper to live under the same roof his father did. One word out of place, one insolent look, and he would burn him to ashes just like the prisoners she saw that day. In the eyes of Aerys, it didn’t matter if he was a simple peasant or his own son, his madness did not discriminate. 

“How can you endure it?” she absently minded questioned him, and even if she wasn’t looking at him, she felt his gaze upon her, and she crossed her arms on her chest, as if, somehow, that could protect her from his sight. “How did you turn out so…” what was the correct word to describe him? Which adjective would be the right one? Good? Not enough. Kind? Incomplete. Then what? “…Perfect?” it suited him.

His eyebrows rose high, and he blinked a few times before opening his mouth. “That’s the thing… I _have_ to. Sometimes you have no choice” a chuckle left his lips, but his eyes had a glimpse of something, some kind of deep melancholy she sometimes could find in them in the most unexpected moments “And i wouldn’t call myself perfect. In any way.”

And against his judgement, and as strange as it felt, she found nothing wrong in him. Perfect. Even if he wasn’t, he was the closest she ever found. If he had flaws, he never showed them. How could he expect her to see them if he never showed them? If he always seemed so good at everything.  Was that his flaw?

“Well, you seem to be” Lyanna sighed defeated, and then turned to face the view of that dark ocean spreading wide in front of them, the yellow lights of King’s Landing reflecting themselves dimly on the dark water of the night, like a golden constellation burning on the ocean. It seemed so peaceful. So different from what it really was.

She could only think of what lied hidden behind so much quietness. The chaos, the madness, the danger.

She never wanted her father and Brandon away from her like she did in that moment.

Suddenly, the urge to weep spread across her chest like slippery, poisonous mist, withering everything it touched, and an unattainable sadness fell heavy upon her soul. She found herself vulnerable, fearful, and the anguish began to eat her up from the inside. 

In just a second, her sight became blurry. What was happening to her?

When the first warm tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a gleaming trail behind it, his gentle fingers skimmed against her skin, wiping it away softly. Did he think she was an idiot for crying, when he had to endure the same monstrosity for years and years? 

No. 

His eyes were gentle, and so was his touch. _And so is he…_

“I have an idea” she heard him say, making her wonder, and somehow, in the middle of his troubled expression, a mid-smile appeared on his face. “Come with me” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She found herself inside Rhaegar’s chambers with unsuspected ease -so, so different from the time of their wedding night-, and after minutes of watching him search between his clothes, he passed her folded clothing. After he left the solar, it took her a few minutes, but she was then dressed in dark breeches and a tunic that was evidently too big for her, but according to Rhaegar, it didn’t matter. 

_It doesn’t matter for what?_

When she abandoned his solar, she found _him_ and Ser Barristan Selmy, who bowed to her courteously. 

What made her eyebrow arch up high was to find them both wearing dark hooded cloaks that covered them completely, from head to toe. “What is this?” she asked, and Rhaegar passed her a hooded cloak just like theirs “What? Are we part of some cult now?” she asked, and Rhaegar shared a complicity smile with the ever-serious Barristan Selmy. “Just put it on”

With her brow still arched high, she did as he told her, and only then she realized how ridiculously big the clothes she was wearing were for her.

“I think we’re ready” he said “Aye, Your Highness. Should i bring a horse for the Princess?” the knight asked.

“No. I think the Princess may enjoy our walk” Rhaegar gave her one of his side smiles, but she was lost. Feeling the situation overwhelming, she shushed them both. “Can you explain where in the seven hells are we going?!” 

Both men shared a look “You’ll see” Rhaegar smiled.

She liked surprises, indeed. But not when she knew there was one coming. That only made her anxious. When he grabbed her hand in his and led her through the keep’s hallways, silent as a mouse, she fought the urge to stop him and ask him what was all that. 

But she kept quiet when he leaded her through some dark passages she didn’t know that immense castle had, they seemed abandoned, the stone walls had spiderwebs on some spots, as if anyone had set a foot in that place in a long time. 

She knew they were going somewhere, but her jaw dropped to the floor when, at the end of one of those tricky passages, the streets of King’s Landing rose in front of her, the golden candle lights on the windows and the hustle of people going in all directions confused her for a moment. 

“What are we doing?!” she squeezed Rhaegar’s hand in hers, and stood on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. He just looked at her and smiled “The Hook” and without saying a single word, they kept going.

_The Hook?!_

They kept walking amongst people, and only then she understood the meaning of those heavy hooded cloaks the three of them were wearing. Nobody on the streets would ever guess the Crown Prince, his wife and one of his Kingsguards were walking amongst them like simple citizens under those hoods. 

Some segments of the streets were too crowded, _too noisy_ , but Rhaegar and Ser Barristan positioned themselves ahead and behind her, acting as protective walls around her. At some point, Rhaegar turned his head to her, as if making sure she was fine, and she only nodded with a slight movement of her head.

After walking a few more blocks, they finally stopped, and in front of her, a tavern rose with it’s beige colored walls, big wooden windows and the doors wide open for customers to get in. Upon the entrance, an wooden sign was hanging there. She could hear the music coming from the inside, laughs and breaking glass as well from all the drunk men inside, and she could even spot a whore near the entrance, offering her ‘services’ with her simple smirk and a hand on her crotch. 

So the noble, gallant and honorable Dragon Prince frequented taverns. Was she dreaming?

“Wanna go inside?” Rhaegar asked, and even if she could barely see his indigo eyes under that dark hood that was overshadowing his face, she clearly saw the mischievous smirk he was giving her. As if he was challenging her to do it.

Did he believe she was scared? She never visited a tavern before, but that didn't mean she never wanted to. 

What would Brandon say if he found her in that place? She always thought her older brother would eventually give up to her petitions, and he would finally let her accompany him and Ned and Benjen to a place like that someday. He never did.

But not even in her most twisted dreams was the Targaryen Crown Prince the one to do it. The single idea didn’t even exist in her mind, it was inconceivable just moments before.

They got in, and she and Ser Barristan took their hoods off. Rhaegar, on the contrary, had it still on. His valyrian features were too obvious and would undoubtably draw too much attention. 

Before she could even realize what was going on, three beer steins were already on their table. “When was the last time we did this, Ser Barristan?” Rhaegar grinned, and Lyanna turned her gaze to the disguised knight only to find him laughing and gripping the beer stein “A long time ago, Your Highness” he lowered his voice considerably when referring to Rhaegar as ‘Your Highness’, and the three of them gathered together to hear him speak “I think a few moon turns before the Princess arrived at King’s Landing. That was the last time.”

“ _You_ frequent taverns?” Lyanna asked in disbelief, and the idea still felt too impossible in her head. 

Him, with all of his gallantry, elegance and even seriousness whenever he had Small Council’s meetings.

“Sometimes” Rhaegar answered simply, taking a gulp of his beer. “And my friend here” he looked at Ser Barristan “Is usually my companion. Have you ever been in one before?” he asked, amusement in every bit of him. 

She denied with her head, and Rhaegar rose his stein high “Cheers then. For your first time” 

She took a big gulp of her beer, and the taste of the bitter liquid made her wrinkle her nose involuntarily. It felt much more bitter than wine, and there was something gruff about it’s taste, but she figured it would pass after she had more of it.

“Whoa, easy, Princess… You don’t want to get all boozy so early” he laughed, and she felt her brows furrowing. “I will not!” she snapped, putting her stein back on the table.

“That’s what he said the first time we came here too” Ser Barristan chuckled with a very amused expression on his face, and Lyanna couldn’t help the urge to laugh. Rhaegar Targaryen drunk? She never thought it was possible. “Did he get drunk, Ser Barristan?” she asked.

“He got so drunk, Princess, that i had to help him walk all the way back to the Red Keep” the man’s words were cut by a mirth “And don’t even make me speak of the aftermaths the next day” 

The aftermaths? She knew of those. She saw Brandon countless times after a night out, with swollen eyes, a beating headache and even vomiting. But her royal husband? She bursted in laughter immediately, and even Rhaegar was laughing amusingly. “What happened the next day?!” she asked curiously, biting her lower lip in anxiousness.

“It’d be fair to clarify that when we arrived at the Keep, the sun was already rising. When i seated him on his bed” the man took air before speaking again, and she could hear Rhaegar’s guffaws accompanying the story “Well… I ended up splattered in… Royal vomit” 

At the simple image that formed in her head, she couldn’t stop the laughter coming out of her as waves, the whole story sounded like a street comedy. “How old were you, Rhaegar?” she asked with small tears soaking the corner of her eyes, feeling her flat stomach ache in fun.

“Seven-and-ten” he spoke in-between of his guffaws, looking absolutely into the memory of that night. 

“Poor Queen Rhaella sent a maester to see him, she thought he got sick from something he ate” Ser Barristan cackled. 

The poor, sweet Rhaella, she could imagine her being all concerned about her _drunk_ son, disguising his hangover as an illness. So the Crown Prince also had his dirty threads as well.

She wondered what else did he do in his early years that she didn’t know, and a whole world of possibilities opened up in front of her that night. She wanted to know. And she would.

“I have an idea!” she claimed, and both men looked at her in curiosity “Let’s play a game” she proposed, they both looked at each other and then back at her. 

“Very well, then” Rhaegar nodded, giving her the answer she wanted to hear. 

“These are the rules” she started, and Rhaegar and Ser Barristan both gathered towards her to listen to her closely “I say something, an affirmation of _anything_ i can imagine. And if any of you have done it, no matter how ashamed you are, you have to drink from your stein as a confirmation. We’ll do it for turns. And absolutely _no_ lying.” 

Once again, they both looked at each other, and then at Lyanna. “Fine” Rhaegar sentenced, with a smirk on his lips. 

“Let’s begin then” a devilish smile took over her lips, ready to shoot “I have been so drunk that i fell asleep and when i woke up i couldn’t remember anything”

Instantly, both men lifted their steins and drank their beers. She was starting to enjoy that little game she started.

“My turn” Rhaegar smirked and threw a devilish look to Lyanna, and she knew he was up to something “I have practiced how to kiss… With a fruit _or_ my own hand”

_Fuck!_

And there, before the stares of both Rhaegar and Ser Barristan, she felt her cheeks blushing intensely at the long forgotten memory -until that moment- of her two-and-ten year old self, kissing her own hand after she saw Brandon kissing a woman on the lips and trying to fulfill her curiosity.

“It was many years ago, you know!” she snapped as she grabbed her beer and took a gulp of it, while Rhaegar’s and Ser Barristan’s guffaws filled the air, joining the noises around them.

“Your turn” Lyanna pointed to the Kingsguard next to her, but he waved his hands in a negative “Oh, i’d prefer to listen to you two” 

“Boo! Don’t be a party pooper, Ser.” Lyanna tried to convince him, but the distressed knight kept denying shyly.

“Just let him be. He’s like that” Rhaegar denied with his head at the Kingsguard,  “Your turn, Princess”

She had to get back at him for shaming her, and she would. What could be embarrassing enough? An idea crossed her mind, and even if it was probably the beer that had made it’s job on her mind, and the sentence was probably too inappropriate, she would say it.

“I have been in a brothel before, _with_ a whore” she spitted, eagerly waiting for her silver husband to respond to her question hidden between those lines. 

He did not make a single move, and neither did Ser Barristan. “So?” she asked impatiently, her eyes were expectantly fixed on him.

“So, what?” he asked “I never have” he smiled at her, in an annoying victorious way after her failure at shaming him. 

She could only sigh in defeat, but she had it coming. As if her ‘perfect’ Dragon Prince would do such a thing. Suddenly, she found herself wondering wether he had even been with a woman before or not. And apparently, she had her next question formulated already.

“I _really_ like someone” he looked straight at her, and she knew that was an arrow directed strictly to her. 

With a confused mind and burning red cheeks, she mechanically lifted her stein and gulped. What was she doing? 

Her shame passed quickly, thanks to an unexpected turn of events. 

Next to her, Ser Barristan Selmy also lifted his stein, and just like she did, he gulped it’s content. 

The serious, honorable Ser Barristan Selmy liked someone? She sent Rhaegar a look of incredulity, and he sent her one of acknowledgement. He knew about it.

The poor Kingsguard was next to her, with his face dyed in the most intense scarlet tone she had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but to compare him with a tomato. 

“My turn” she spoke, glancing at Ser Barristan one last time, ready to take him out of his misery -and to avoid her own shame too- “I have _been_ with someone in secret” she said, and _her_ _arrow_ went straight to Rhaegar.

He looked down on the table, and with a slight smile gulped the content of the stein.

Just then she realized of the involvements of it all. Did he sleep around while being married to her? 

All of the sudden, she felt something hot arising inside her “What?!” she asked in a gruff manner, her brows furrowing and her jaw clenched.

He rolled his eyes “It was _long_ before you” he clarified with an arched brow, and even if the clarification calmed the heat arising in her, she still felt her chest irking. _Men._ “And i think we’re going to need more beer if we want to keep playing” he said as he lifted his hand to ask for more.

The unthinkable, and sometimes even inappropriate affirmations kept flowing on the table along with the beer, and as she began to acquire a taste for the gruff drink, she felt her head feeling lighter and lighter. Thanks to that little game, she had to admit out loud to Rhaegar and Ser Barristan how scared she was of earthworms and other bugs, how she lied to her father several times, even about an old crush she had on a stable boy, and some other things. But she also learned that Rhaegar had thought of running off to Essos when he was younger, that Ser Barristan liked ‘a friend’s relative’ -she spent several minutes thinking of anyone she knew, but nothing came to her mind-, and, to their disgrace and humiliation, that they both had tried to measure their ‘thingies’ -as she called it when the humiliating sentence came out of her mouth- when they were younger. Oh, how grateful she was for all those years hearing her brothers’ nonsense about the size. They were finally useful for something. 

“Very well… I think we have humiliated each other enough for tonight” Rhaegar spoke, offering her a hand to stand up. 

When she did, she felt a slight dizziness in her head, and she knew the beer had done it’s job on her. 

On the contrary, her two companions seemed perfectly fine. They drank the same amount, but the difference in height and weight were abysmal, she knew. 

When they got out of the tavern, musicians were singing a song about a dying prince at a river on the dark street with a small crowd surrounding them, and they all seemed to know the lyrics perfectly. 

To her surprise, instead of leaving, Rhaegar stood in front of them, as part of the public, and so did Ser Barristan. 

When the musicians stopped, Rhaegar walked to the center of the place, and approached the man who played the woodharp. Rhaegar spoke some words to the man, words neither she or Ser Barristan were able to hear due to the bustle of claps and people cheering around them. 

The man of the woodharp abandoned his spot and let Rhaegar have it, along with his instrument. _What in the seven hells is he doing?_ And suddenly, she remembered the golden harp she once saw in his chambers. _Does he…?_

The public got quiet, and seconds later, Rhaegar’s fingers began to pluck the instrument’s strings with such skill that it made her skin bristle.

The notes were soft, fluid and sweet, creating a melody that had her in a trance, until her husband’s strong and clear voice filled the air and made her stop her breathing for a second. Her jaw dropped, and she quickly sent a glance to the Kingsguard beside her, but he did not seemed too surprised. Did he know?

The words of the song he was singing rolled smoothly out of his mouth with sweet melancholy, and the lyrics sang about a lady in a stone tower on a foreign hot land, mourning for her lost lover. 

Her chest was up and down, and for some reason, the lyrics, the melody, and most than anything, his voice, made her chest feel warm inside, and she felt unable to speak a single word, unable to stain such a beautiful melody with any other sound she could produce. And apparently, her silver husband provoked the same effect on the crowd that gathered around him and began to throw coins and more coins to his feet. 

When the song ended, the crowd cheered and clapped for him, and she could hear men and women wondering if he was going to let them see his face, the face of such a skilled musician, they said. 

“Let us see you!” a woman shouted, and Lyanna tensed instantly. What would he do? He couldn’t just show his face off in the middle of so much people, it would be insane, his features were too obvious, too Targaryen-ish. But she saw him smirk under his hood. “Forgive me, m’lady… But i fear my face is much too ugly to show in public. It would deeply shame me”  he responded, and the woman who shouted earlier looked clearly disappointed. 

She closed her eyes and denied with her head… Probably everyone in that place thought that it was a shame that such a skilled musician was damned with such an ugly face that he had to hide it under a hood. Nothing more far away from the truth, she thought, and could only chuckle at Rhaegar’s occurrence. 

If they could only see him.

When a lighting flashed angrily across the dark clouded sky upon them, Rhaegar looked at her and at the Kingsguard by her side, and she knew it was time to leave. 

He threaded his fingers to hers, making her feel even tipsier than she already was, and he quickened his pace, drifting towards the direction of the Red Keep arising from afar, and after a hurried walk through King’s Landing’s streets between giggles and jumps and some trips on her part, they got into the Red Keep again through the same abandoned passages from where they escaped hours ago. 

Walking through the hallways of Maegor’s Holdfast made it all so unreal, as if it was all a dream she had, the passages, the streets, the tavern, the song he sang. But _his_ clothing on her and the way her hand was locked to his’ proved it all to be true. 

When they stopped in front of her chambers, Lyanna looked back, searching for Ser Barristan to say goodbye, but the man faded at some point of the path behind them. Where could he have gone? 

When she turned to face Rhaegar, his dark indigo eyes were on her as he pushed his hood back completely, leaving his blond hair exposed to the orange glow of the torches lighting the hallway. “I don’t know about you, but i had a great night” he smiled.

What could she say? That had been probably the most fun she had ever since she arrived at King’s Landing, maybe even the most fun she ever had. 

“So you like someone, huh?” he mentioned, and it first confused her, but then she remembered the moment she drank when he affirmed it.

She leaned her back against the wooden doors of her solar clumsily, and a deep sigh escaped from her lips to be followed by giggles, and she didn't know if it was the alcohol acting upon her, but she felt too light, too free and too _happy_. “Me too, i had a lot of fun.” she bitted her lower lip, still smiling, and she saw the moment his eyes left hers for half a second to settle on her mouth. Somehow, that simple gesture made her feel hot inside, and she wondered if she was producing the same feeling inside him. “Aha… I like someone” 

“I wonder who that might be” he murmured, and she grinned, her teeth still sinked on her lower lip “You don’t have a clue” Lyanna whispered. 

With a clumsy step, she got closer to him, and their distance reduced considerably, her eyes looking up at him. “Do you?” she murmured, and got on the tip of her toes to try and reach his height, only to deposit a soft kiss on the commissure of his lips, a bare touch that felt like having electricity running through her entire body, a bare touch that made him pull her close and snatch her mouth in his hungrily. 

He was soft and slow and wet and hot and he tasted like mint and beer, the way his lips were moving against hers was the most pleasant feeling she ever had, and without realizing what she was doing, her hands went to the back of his neck, her fingers caressing his skin gently.

His touch was hot and it burned her where it landed, and when the tip of his tongue toyed with hers, slipping into her, she felt her heart skipping a beat insanely on her chest, and her breathing became heavier as his grip around her waist became tighter.

When their lips separated, her greyish eyes fixed intensely on his indigo ones, and her chest was going up and down in a frenetic way, her lips were parted and so were his, damped and full and tempting with his hot breath brushing her skin. Without a warning, her Dragon Prince pulled her close again to trap her mouth in his, this time, hotter and hungrier. She trapped his lower lip between her teeth, only to lick it seconds later. The simple deed triggered his blood to boil, that much she could tell when in one swift move, he pinned her against the wooden doors of her solar, his hands gripping her wrists at her sides.

Without second thoughts, she lifted one of her legs to his side, and in one swift move, he lifted her up from behind her thighs and her legs were wrapped around his waist in a second, her back still against the doors and a hot hot _hot_ feeling bubbling on her lower stomach as her tongue was still exploring his mouth.

When the air was insufficient, they broke the kiss, but his lips only abandoned hers to travel down south, leaving a burning trail on the skin of her jaw and neck as he kissed every single inch of her skin, his hands still on her thighs, holding her tightly.

She felt too hot inside, and again, a tickling sensation spread all over her lower stomach as a gasp escaped her wet lips when she had his lips there, and she could swear she felt him smirk on the crook of her neck before he bit her skin softly. All she could think of was of his taste on her lips, and his hands on her, and his hot breath on her neck that had her panting. Her mind suddenly went to places it never went before while her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled roughly.

She wanted him so badly, she loved the feelings he produced on her with a single touch, and she could’ve been kissing him like that all night long if it wasn’t for a sudden lightning that roared on the dark sky with the ire of a hundred titans, it’s pale light striking violently into every corner of the hallway.

The strong roar made her jump back, breaking the kiss instantly, and with eyes wide open she saw Rhaegar’s face illuminated with the silver light of the lightning, his features contoured in silver and black and his dark dark _dark_ indigo eyes looked lavender for two seconds, filled with many things she recognized in herself too in that moment. 

“It was a thunder” he whispered near her mouth, his eyes, dark again, set on hers and his hot breath brushing against her lips. “Yes… It was” she murmured, her breathing still heavy, just like his. She felt the blood gathering on her cheeks as soon as she realized the position she was in, with his hands holding the back of her thighs and her legs wrapped around him and her body glued to his. Her already accelerated heart raced even faster, and she gulped as shame took over her senses “I-I guess i should rest now” 

The distance between them grew, and Rhaegar gently put her back down on the floor, her knees weak, shaking uncontrollably, but her hands still on the back of his neck.

“I guess we both should” he licked his lips, his hands resting on her waist firmly “Good night, Lyanna” he murmured, before planting a soft, tender kiss on her lips that lasted only a few seconds.

“Good night” she whispered as she saw him disappear into the hallway, her heart still racing, her knees still shaking and she… She still craving for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO? What do you think? Tipsy Lyanna and tipsy Rhaegar are a lot fun, aren't they?  
> I don't know if i rushed to write a situation like this, what do you think? Did i go too fast? Hmm, hopefully no.
> 
> The whole idea for this chapter came out after recalling a scene in which Ser Barristan tells Daenerys about her brother, and how he used to go with him to the Hook, and how he liked to walk amongst people and sing to them, and about those times when they got drunk on taverns haha... 
> 
> So, i hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading and THANK YOU SO MUCH for your kind comments, as i said many many times before, they are really inspiring! 
> 
> Hope you have a wonderful week! :) Kudos!


	20. Contemplation

If Jon Connington was speaking about lions, he was thinking about wolfs. Even if he tried to concentrate on the words his auburn haired friend was reciting, glimpses of hazel and grey, and the sensation of warm, silky skin kept leaking into his mind like slippery mist. It would be fair to say he was present in body, but not in mind. In mind, he was still in front of the doors of his wife’s chambers. And he still had her.

Memories form the night before were fresh, vivid, _almost_ tangible, or at least the sensation was still imprinted on him. He could still feel her slim body attached to his with unexpected hunger, and could still imagine her stunning greyish orbs flashing glints of something he could not quiet decode, but that he could easily recognize in himself too when he kissed her, when he looked at her, and lately, when he was around her. 

Lyanna, his beautiful northern wife, had she cast some kind of spell upon him? Because all he could think of was of stormy eyes piercing through him, the way she would bit her lower lip whenever she expected something, but most of all, that beautifully curved smile that made act of presence with true joy whenever something amused her. She was beautiful, too beautiful, yes, but what left him breathless was the iron underneath.

“Rhaegar? Are you listening to me?” Jon’s worried tone made him go back to reality, and the vision of his wife’s gorgeous hazel gems were replaced by Jon Connington’s sky blue eyes lingering upon him in concern and the sound of his fingers drumming against the wood of the desk. 

“Yes, yes. Lady Cersei has departed to Casterly Rock” he said absentmindedly, recalling vaguely what his auburn haired friend was speaking of just minutes ago. Trying to concentrate was useless.

“I know” Jon lifted an eyebrow in an almost impossible angle, probably because of his misplaced comment, or maybe because of the obviousness of his absence of mind “I was talking about the letter” he pointed, and both his eyebrows rose up high this time.

“It is done, Jon.” he heard himself with a huskier voice that made him clear his throat afterwards, while pressing the sides of the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to sooth the slight ache that began to take root in his head earlier. “Is just a matter of time now. We need to wait” he stirred in his chair, pushing aside the thoughts of Lyanna to concentrate on the war he was going to start soon. 

Jon Connington nodded “Yes, Your Highness. I shall prepare everything carefully for when the time comes.” 

 _‘For when the time comes’_ Jon had said. The time seemed so far away, but yet, so close. After twenty one years, a few moon turns seemed so little, almost nothing for someone like him. What it would be like? How it would feel to see his mother free from that excruciation? To see Viserys grow without that deep glimpse of fear that shined in his eyes every time he had to spend time with his own father? How would it feel to rule, to be a King, with Lyanna by his side and as his Queen. It wouldn’t be easy, he knew.

And suddenly, it hit him… 

Would he really have to release Lyanna from their sacred vows and send her back to Winterfell, as he thought back in Harrenhal, when he was discussing her with Ser Oswell? Things had changed, a lot since then, and he could almost swear trust was starting to grow slowly between them, as if that invisible wall that kept them apart from the day they met was starting to crumble at their feet. He could not deny how the she-wolf wandered around his mind lately, even if it surprised him to acknowledge it in that moment. A light pressure fell upon his chest at the thought of giving her back to her family. Was it disappointment? But if she wanted to go home, if she didn’t want to stay there with him, how could he keep her there against her will? She never wanted to be there. He would give _her_ a choice, even if her answer would probably be only one: to return home.

It didn’t feel right.

To his surprise, he found himself thinking of ways to withhold her there, was he ever so selfish before? Probably no. But something inside him snapped the night before, when her small hands pressed the back of his neck strongly, trying to get him even closer to her-if that was even possible-, as if she needed him as much as he needed her in that moment. Was that the answer he was looking for? 

“Your Highness” Jon’s voice dragged his attention to him again, and the red haired man in front of him had his temple wrinkled, as if something concerned him deeply “Have you thought of what to do with the Queen, the little Prince and the Princess when _this_ happens? Will they be safe?” 

“I have” he claimed, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear “I will send them to Dragonstone when the time comes.” 

“It will be the best for them to be away from here, Your Highness. Things could be messy around here when it all explodes. It won’t be safe”

“No, it won’t. I can easily send Lyanna. But i hope i can also send Viserys and my mother.” That was probably one of his biggest fears, to lose any of them in the rebellion. He would never forgive himself if something like that happened, if that rebellion he was planning snatched the lives of those he loved away.  But if he didn’t, it would happen anyway. _Mother._ he thought, and it felt like her broken eyes were staring at him at that moment, with that melancholy that she could hide so well from everyone else but from him. She could never hide a feeling he knew so well, a feeling that had been his companion for so long. 

Jon sighed, one of his fingers scratching his dark auburn beard “If there’s someone who can accomplish that, Your Highness, is you” he finished, pressing his thin lips tight against each other in a bittersweet grimace. 

“I hope so, Jon” _I would never forgive myself._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was there, yes, sitting in the middle of those ladies, hearing them laugh and make comments on any trivial matter, but the truth was… She wasn’t really listening. She wasn’t really there. She was still between the wooden doors of her chambers and her husband’s hard body, and the thought of dark indigo bleeding into pale lavender with the struck of a lightning haven’t left her mind the entire night, the entire morning.  The smell of him on the tunic she wore at night didn’t help her get to sleep, it made her stomach feel _annoyingly_ funny, but taking it off was unthinkable that night. How could it disturb her sleep like that, but at the same time soothe her so much?

It startled her to think of how _badly_ she had wanted to ‘casually’ find him on her way to the gardens that morning, of how that annoying tickling feeling emerged in her stomach like an army of fireflies in the dark every time her thoughts went to him. _Stupid!_ But she knew better, and he was probably in the middle of one of those Small Council’s meetings that he had to attend, since that poor excuse of a King didn’t. But _he_ was so different… _So, so different._ _And so beautiful and regal and noble._

Lyanna could not deny she felt like a complete idiot, like one of those girls she would usually mock with Benjen, with that stupid _feeling._ It didn’t matter anyway, it wasn’t like she could just wipe it away.

If only he showed up there again, as he had done the day he took her away from that very same spot, to give her that beautiful longbow that she kept guarded under her bed -as she always did with her important belongings, back in Winterfell-, should she look for him? If only-

“She’s probably with the Princess’ _brother_ ” she heard the murmur that escaped the lips of one of her ladies-in-waiting, and her eyes widened at the mention of her older brother, and suddenly -but not completely- her silver Prince faded. “Who… Who’s with Brandon?” Lyanna stuttered while trying to clear her mind and articulate her words decently.  

“Lady Ashara, Princess” Jeyne spoke softly, almost too low for her to hear while curling a lock of chestnut hair around one of her fingers. “Oh” Lyanna said, and the matter came to her, quickly and sharp, and only when a glimpse of a white cloak caught her eye at a considerable distance, she understood the reason for Jeyne’s discretion. _Ser Arthur._

What was Brandon trying to achieve? Was he really going to try to seduce Ser Arthur’s sister as he had done many times before with other girls? She would’ve forgiven any ‘affair’ he had with girls who knew better, but now, it was Lady Ashara Dayne. And he was promised to Catelyn Tully, _Seven hells_. Didn’t he care about anything anymore? Why did he have to rationalize everything with his cock? Not even she had seen her own brother as much as Lady Ashara had in those days. Was her father aware of what he was doing? Probably not. As if her Lord father would have time to keep his son away from the ladies’ skirts. 

Maybe if she warned Lady Ashara, maybe then anything tragic would happen. She had to prevent Brandon from doing something incredibly stupid, King’s Landing was no Winterfell, and Lady Ashara Dayne was no daughter of any of her father’s Sworn Houses.  

Her thoughts on her brother’s follies did not last much, when a servant approached Ser Arthur, who immediately threw a quick glance in her direction after the servant told him something she could not hear. The silver haired knight approached her in all his glory, with the legendary Dawn slung from his back -someday she would ask him if she could hold Dawn, she would-. 

The knight lowered to her level, in front of the ladies sitting with her “Your Highness. Your presence is required” he spoke with his voice firm as iron but still gentle and discrete. 

 _Is it you?_ “Rhaegar?” she hurried to ask, and eagerness began to soak her from inside, her breathing stopped for half a second. “No, Your Highness.” the knight paused briefly “Your Lord father is waiting for you” 

The small pinch of disappointment lasted only for a few seconds, and her father’s presence soothed that strange anxiety that the single idea of seeing Rhaegar caused her that morning. 

Excusing herself in front of her ladies, she retired.

Walking side to side with Ser Arthur was much more comfortable for her than having him at her back, specially considering that she admired the knight long before she married Rhaegar. If somebody told her years ago that Arthur Dayne would follow her everywhere she went like her own shadow someday, she would not believe it. But there she was, with the legendary Sword of the Morning at her side. 

“Ser Arthur” she called, and the lilac eyed knight turned his attention to her with a staid expression “Yes, Your Highness?” 

“You could just call me Lyanna when is just you and me” she told him, grey eyes looking up at him. “It would not be proper, Princess.” and he looked at her in an apologetic manner that she saw before in Barristan Selmy when she recited the same words for him. “I don’t know why i keep bothering with you, men of the Kingsguard…” she sighed, and then chuckled “I’d much rather to be called by my name than by some unfamiliar title” the small smile on his face caught her eye “Please?” she insisted, finding a small hope in the knight’s poorly concealed smile. 

“I guess i cannot refuse a royal command” the knight chuckled, and she felt victorious for a brief moment. She had to admit, Ser Arthur was much less…. Rigid, than Ser Barristan, at least with those formalities they had to use. 

“Ser Arthur” she called again, and the knight focused on her one more time “I know you’ve been with me all day but…” she only hoped that her blushed cheeks were discrete enough in that moment “Do you know where the Prince is? Or if he’s busy?” 

And when she felt her cheeks on fire, she could only thank the Gods the knight did not seem to pay much attention to it. He hummed “I believe Lord Connington had a meeting with him today” he paused for a moment “I could search for him after you speak with your Lord father, if you want me to” he offered kindly, and as she looked at him, she felt the scarlet sensation up on her cheeks again. “No, no” she hurried, waving her hands at him “I will do it myself” 

If the knight did notice her intense blush, he could hide it well. Better than he could hide a smile, she observed. 

When they finally reached the place, her father was there, standing tall and corpulent, his face was slightly reddened, just like hers on her first days on the capital, when the intense heat hit her like a dragon’s blaze. Getting used to the alarmingly high temperature of the capital was probably her greatest achievement so far. 

“Ser Arthur” she said “Would you please leave me alone with my father for a moment?” she asked, and the knight nodded in response, making a reverence to her and her father before leaving, and her eyes lingered involuntarily on Dawn for a moment before she turned to her father. 

“Father” she smiled “I see us Starks react all the same to King’s Landing’s heat” she observed.

He returned her smile, grey cold eyes that, somehow, were so similar to hers were then on her “The capital is no place for this old man” he sighed.

“You are no old man!” Lyanna denied in a high pitched voice, her brows furrowing down -and for some reason, it made her father chuckle- “You are the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North” she said proudly, and her father curved his lips up again, small wrinkles forming on the corner of his eyes as he smiled at her. 

“What?” she asked with a grin, eyeing him in suspect. Last time he looked at her like that, she was only two-and-ten and she just won a race on horseback against Brandon and Eddard. That day she had picked her first horse.

“You are happy” he observed with adoration in his eyes, but she did not quite understand. “Of course i’m happy. I have you and Brandon here, i could only be happier if Ned and Ben were here too” She smiled. 

Her father snorted in a laugh. 

“Yes, yes. I know, my child. But i know you are happy here too” he looked at her with steely eyes “Your mother would be so pleased”.

Happy, he had said. 

Happy. Could she define herself as happy? 

The answer startled her. Or maybe the lack of an answer. In a strange way, she made her own little circle of confidence in that place, like a small substitute family maybe. She held great affection for the sweet Queen, who acted like a mother to her, for Viserys, that little child she adored, and Rhaegar… How could she explain what he made her feel? She couldn’t, and if she tried, she would end up in a tangled confusion she did not want to face. If anything, that place made her feel a anxious inquietude.

“I am” she responded instead, giving her father the answer he expected. 

“That eases my soul, Lyanna. I was so worried about you” he held one of her hands on his own “I thought you might have gotten yourself in trouble here. It is expected from the wolf-blood” he made a grimace. 

_If only you knew, father._

Her father only sighed, and his wrinkled forehead relaxed. “I guess i can leave in tranquility” he sentenced.

Her mouth parted, and for a few seconds, she said nothing, expecting him to explain himself. But he didn’t. “Leave?!” she almost shouted “So soon?!” 

He nodded. “I don’t want the King to feel threatened by our presence here.” his brows furrowed “Besides, Brandon’s wedding is near and i have to make the last arrangements” 

When the last sentence got out of his mouth, she felt the anger of a thousand dragons inside her chest, and at the simple image of Aerys she thought she could spit fire herself. “You don’t have to leave!” she claimed, wanting to say so many things, so many insulting things towards that ‘King’, her eyes were on fire “You mustn’t!” 

“We have to, Lyanna.” he paused for a brief moment, looking seriously to her eyes, steely grey colliding against greyish hazel with the same intensity “We depart in two days.” he sentenced, putting an end to that discussion with only a stare that she caught rather well “And i am pleased with what i saw here. Prince Rhaegar has kept his promise. That speaks highly of him.”

At the mention of him, she jerked, and her eyes widened a little. She could not tell in which moment did Rhaegar made that mysterious promise to her father, but he obviously did, and her father seemed pleased with it. It was obviously a promise about her.  “Promise?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him “What promise is that, father?” 

Her father smiled, and turned his face to the clear blue sky of the capital, his eyes acquired an even lighter tone than usual. “Just a promise he made to an old man to keep his daughter safe”

‘To keep his daughter safe’. And he had. He had done it more times than he should’ve, the Gods knew. And the Gods also knew that, if he were less gentle, less kind or less noble, her father would probably have to pick her up in pieces from the Great Hall’s marble floor, after every folly she committed, after every threat Aerys had threw to her, he was always there to put himself in the middle of the sword and her. “He had”  Lyanna murmured, and she lowered her sight, fresh memories flowing through her mind with the strength of a waterfall. 

“He is a good man” he affirmed, and she could not say a word against it. She found in his eyes the most utter relief when she did not contradict him. “I hope your brother can do right to Lady Catelyn, just as your husband had done to you” he sighed, the signs of worry flowing freely. 

 _Brandon._ Should she speak about him? Or should she just keep quiet? Stay quiet wasn’t like her, but she wouldn’t speak to her father about it. No. She would speak to Brandon. And he would _have_ to listen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i know this has been a flat chapter, sorry, i know is kind of dull, but it was a necessary filler chapter for what is coming.   
> Well, at least we get to appreciate R and L thoughts on each other, right? 
> 
> I must admit, i wasn't too inspired when writing this, so i apologize if you don't connect to the chapter as you may have done before with previous ones. Maybe it was because, well, i kind of hate writing filler chapters (and sometimes i feel just less inspired than others... I can't control it, oh well)... So yeah. Sorry!
> 
> Clue for the next chapter: somebody is going to screw things up BIG TIME. Oh, and Lyanna gets a cool gift :) 
> 
> Also, i received a LOT of comments talking about who the girl R was before with was! (And oh boy, some of you were TRULY CONCERNED about R's shaming a girl like that. It does't suit him, right?) Hahaha.. Well, i'm not sure i will reveal her identity, because, HONESTLY??? I still haven't found a likable character that could match him (at least to me. And we all know Elia is out of the table here) BUT... The story will eventually be revealed and explained properly, so yeah, i won't destroy R's honorability just like that, if you're worried about it hahahaha
> 
> Anyway, thanks for passing by and reading and leaving your awesome comments, is always nice to hear from you guys, what you liked about the chapters, what you didn't like too... If you have any suggestions or if you just wanna say anything, don't forget to leave a comment down, i will answer you :)
> 
> Thank you! And have a nice week!


	21. Heated Situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i was bored and i decided writing this quickly before leaving to class. There you go!

“Stop whatever you are doing, Brandon!” she hissed in anger, not afraid of her older -and much bigger than her- brother’s deadly, sharp stare upon her, his nose was wrinkled, and she recognized the angry grimace on her brother’s face, the one she often saw when they quarreled. 

The instant her father left, she sent somebody to look for him urgently. The matter had to be discussed, and the stupidity he was committing had to end, for her father, for his betrothed, and even for Lady Ashara herself. 

She saw him turn his head somewhere else and he snorted in a cocky smile before speaking “And what is that exactly, sweet sister?” the _stupid_ smile didn’t fade from his face, a clear sign that he perfectly understood her, and he still had the nerve to mock her. How dared him?

She could just punch him in the face right there, only to remind him that she was no longer a kid he could mock. 

“Are you going to play the fool now?” she asked, and another arrogant laugh was plucked from his mouth as if she just had told him a joke, eyes filled with mockery _towards_ _her_. She felt her lips twitching nervously and her brows furrowing deep down, she never liked to be looked down, and that was exactly what Brandon was doing, with his impertinent smile and his arrogant attitude. “I know of your intentions, you prick” she hissed, and he raised a brow, his smirk was intact, but his eyes were storming wildly. “Do you? What could a brat like you know?” he looked at her from toes to head. “Leave Lady Ashara alone, Brandon” she warned with a low tone, low enough so that the Kingsguard looking at them from afar could not hear it. 

 “Mind your own business and leave me alone. I can do as i please, _little_ sister” he sentenced, remarking heavily on the word ‘little’. 

“Do you love her? I highly doubt it” Lyanna spat, studying every gesture, every move he made. He grinned once again, and somehow it felt even more insulting than the last one “Since when do you care whom i decide to love or not? I’m sure you didn’t care back in Winterfell, did you?” 

Was he playing? How much of an ass her brother could be? The first time she saw Barbrey Ryswell crying at the doors of Winterfell, was the first time she wondered. Many other times followed, but now… Could he really be that much of a dick? It wasn’t for love, it was for his own fucking ego, his own fucking ‘manhood’. Was his cock worth more than his betrothed’s honor? More than their father’s teachings? 

The first thing that came to her mind was her father, the pride he emanated whenever he spoke of _him_ , and then, Lady Catelyn’s kind, sky blue eyes that held not even a single pinch of mischievousness in them and looked at Brandon with naive dreaminess. Yet, there was the gallant fool, acting like a brainless idiot, sniffing under the skirts of any lady that passed near him, without an ounce of shame for his actions, triumphant. “You don’t deserve to be called a Stark!” she growled with fury, and maybe it was her wolf-blood speaking for her, but she didn’t care, and the words felt like acid on her tongue if she held them back, she had to spit them out. 

His expression went from mockery to ire in the bat of a lash. “Are you proud?” she asked, clenched fists at her sides “Are you proud of bringing shame not only to _our_ house and _our_ father, but also to Lady Catelyn, _your betrothed?_ You have no honor, Brandon.” her breathing was irregular, and she could feel the hot air going in and out of her nostrils like an angered bull, she didn’t care if her brother’s face disfigured in front of her, she didn’t care that he approached her gruffly and that his gray eyes were sinked down in her like sharp, threatening knives. “Your cock is the only part of you that you actually listen to” she spat. 

His breathing seemed accelerated, just like hers. “Careful now, Lyanna.” he warned, but she didn’t flinch and neither did she downsized in front of him or his threat “Does the truth bothers you, brother? Because if you still have a little decency in you, it should!” she shouted, her jaw clenched tightly. 

“Stay out of my business, Lyanna!” he shouted then, and it didn’t surprise her, she was expecting him to react, hungry for his response. “Just because you’ve had a royal cock into you you’re already fancying yourself wise and old enough to stick your nose into my business? Don’t make me laugh!” he growled, loud and fearless for any soul around them to hear, as she knew Ser Arthur surely did despite his prudent distance to them. 

She didn’t even think twice before stamping her right hand across Brandon’s face, the slapping sound echoed not only in the place, but also in her head, and the slap left an angry red mark on his cheek, as angry as his steely eyes that seemed to want to kill her right there.  

He gripped her wrist strongly, and small sparks of pain looming inside her made her nose wrinkle in discomfort, but her stare was still straight in his ireful eyes without an ounce of fear. “Let go of me” she warned in a low tone sharper than shattered glass, but he only hardened his grip around her wrist as his mouth twisted in a grimace, and his brute strength made her squeeze her eyes for a fraction of second. It was the first time her brother reacted like that. But it was also the first time she ever slapped him. _And the first time i’ve ever told him that he does not deserve to be a Stark._

Maybe it was the heat of the moment, maybe it was the intense exchange of deadly stares between her and Brandon, but she did not hear the Kingsguard approaching them until his iron like voice broke the tense silence between siblings “Is there a problem, Your Highness?” Ser Arthur Dayne, standing by her side with wary violet eyes upon Brandon asked, and she noticed how his height matched Brandon’s and how he didn’t even bat a lash to throw a warning glance at her brother. If she asked him, Ser Arthur could have Brandon pinned to the floor in a second.

But no.

She released herself from Brandon’s grip with a quick and firm movement, and her eyes never left her brother’s when she spoke to the Kingsguard beside her “No, there isn’t, Ser Arthur.” she paused for a moment, feeling the air heavy around them “My brother here has some issues he should solve. We shall leave him alone now” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ire was not a strange feeling to him. It was rather a constant companion. 

His father always said wolf-blood ran strongly in his veins -and in Lyanna’s- and he was right, and maybe that was the reason why he and his sister were so alike, so prone to stupid actions, and always quarreling, and he always thought one of them would be the one to dishonor their House. Apparently, it would be him.

Even if Lyanna was one of his greatest treasures, he could not held back the feeling of fervid anger towards her, her words echoing in his head over and over again only served to fan the fire within, as if he hadn’t had enough already, enough of responsibilities he didn't want, enough of reproaches for actions that, had he been born a simple peasant, would not be looked with such judgmental eyes, but most than anything, enough of the burden of being the fucking _heir_ to Winterfell and future _Warden of the North._ He certainly didn’t need his little sister, the one that was so much like him, to judge him. She had no rights.

Lyanna might have complained about her luck many times before, specially after her father tried to betroth her to Robert Baratheon, and then again when she was sent to King’s Landing to become a Princess and tie her life to Rhaegar Targaryen, but him… He had an even worst luck than the one she complained about. He would have to be the future _fucking_ Warden of the _fucking_ North and fill his father’s shoes, shoes that would _not_ fit, shoes he was not made for. But there he was, playing at being the future Lord, playing at being a typical man -a typical husband- for the Tullys, and yet, Lyanna had the nerve to try and judge him. _That spoiled brat. She knows nothing, she understands nothing._

It was probably easy for her, after all, all she had to do was to sit on her ass the entire day and do absolutely nothing while people tried to please her, and by the looks of it, her Targaryen husband gave her all the _fucking_ freedom a married woman could ask, and even more than she could ask for in other circumstances, if she asked him. But there she was, throwing dignified speeches of moral, values and honor. _Honor._ How he would like to see her tied to a man different from Rhaegar Targaryen, to a man who would actually make her life as miserable as his was going to be. Maybe if she married Robert, she would have just that and she would be the first to ruin their family’s honorable name by running away. Lyanna had never been one to endure mistreating. 

But no. Truth was, he would not like to see her like that, and the murky thoughts filled with malice quickly faded. He would never wish ill to his sister. She was Lyanna, his little sister, the only girl in the world he would protect with his own life. For fuck’s sake, he would get himself strangled for her without second thoughts if he had to. 

But her words still irked, and maybe she was right. Shaming his father? He did it so many times before. To shame Catelyn Tully? He sure would, in one way or another. He already did it the night before, and purple eyes and ebony hair beneath him misted his mind for a moment, the memory of sweaty golden skin against his was still fresh. They were not even married yet, but he already shamed the Tully girl. 

That fucking wedding was so close. So fucking close. He felt it like the deal sealer for his further misery, like the leash around his neck waiting to be pulled. What if he didn’t want any of it? What if he didn’t want the titles, the lands, the wife? What if he only wanted -like he had all his life- go to Dorne, or maybe to Essos, and live free from those heavy weights on his shoulders, and drink, and fight, and be _fucking_ free. 

Was that truly so wrong? 

He only laughed, bitterly, because in the end, a simple peasant or a stable boy would always have more freedom than he could ever dream of. The irony seemed to be stabbing him on the stomach with it’s mockery, and it only helped to increase the frustration he felt for so long, caged in his chest. 

He felt that damned wolf-blood his father acknowledged in him so many times before, hot inside his veins, carrying stupid impulses within that would probably cause only trouble and would only cause for his father’s eyes to look _disappointingly_ upon him. That look he knew so well.

_Fuck the tradition, fuck the customs, fuck the titles._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her pace was quick and firm, and if she would normally dedicate a smile to those around her, this time, her mind was too chaotic, too fussy, to acknowledge what was happening around her. 

Her earlier fight with Brandon had her snarling the entire morning, his shameless behavior and that smug attitude had taken her to the edge of patience, and she never thought things could get physical, even if she started _it_. Thinking about it only made her rage fuss even more, and the urge to slap Brandon’s face once again rebirth within her.

_Whoring idiot!_

Maybe that was why she decided that that day, she would ride, like she hadn't done in a long time. The Red Keep’s stables were huge, yes, but not bigger than Winterfell’s, yet, they had more horses, each one of them more beautiful than the other, but that day… That day she had a fixation towards one specific destrier. 

With dark breeches and Rhaegar’s tunic, along with her riding boots, she headed towards Blackfyre’s stall, following the directions that one of the stable boys gave her and also ignoring the warning: ‘I wouldn’t try to ride him, Your Highness. That’s one surly horse.’ he had said, and then offered her to saddle up any horse she wanted, but she energetically refused. She had already mounted Blackfyre once, even if it was in the company of his owner, but she already did, and the beast didn't seem too snarly to her. 

So there she was, approaching the stall with heavy steps. Until she heard _him_ inside.

Her fight with Brandon had made her forget about her anxiousness to see _him_ , but after the heat of the quarrel cooled down, a dark cloud of moodiness dropped an anchor upon her head, and if she was anxious and nervous about meeting Rhaegar earlier that day, the quarrel with her brother only added fuel to the frustration that began to burn slowly inside because of his indifference. He hadn’t even tried to reach her that day. 

Gulping heavily, she took a few silent steps forward, peeping carefully inside the stall, breathing as smoothly as she could.

There he was, in dark breeches and a tunic too alike to the one she was wearing, his hair was tucked in a bunch, but that didn't stop the strands of hair falling to his face carelessly. Oh, how she liked it that way. He was stroking the destrier’s nose firmly, and speaking _foreign_ words she could not understand, but that sounded strong and yet sweet to her ears, with that velvety tone of his voice that she liked so much. _High valyrian._ High Valyrian indeed, and she could only ask herself if the language itself sounded so good, or if it was just him.

She noticed how the beast seemed to respond to his words with a slight neighing, trampling the ground with one hoof, as if he could understand what Rhaegar was saying. He smiled, and gave the horse a pat on the neck, loosing a few more words in a low tone. Only then she realized, looking carefully at the behavior of both, the bond between destrier and rider was there, invisible, but strong and true. Just like the bond she had with her mare back in Winterfell. How she missed Snowflake, the mare her father gave her when she was just a little girl. 

As a reflex to the memory, her lips quirked up in a smile, and if she felt any moodiness before, it was sure gone thanks to the sight she was witnessing, along with the memory of her beloved mare.

Only then, she decided she was ready to face him, and she felt excited, _too_ excited. 

Lyanna stepped into the stall shyly, and her silver Prince turned to her at the sound of her pace, widening his eyes for a second at the sight of her, but only to give her a side smile after she walked in, and that had made her bite her lower lip. “Hi” she almost muttered, looking down to the destrier’s black hooves. For some reason, facing him was not as easy as she had thought when she decided to step in.

“Hi” he greeted back, lowering his hand from Blackfyre’s nose to his side “What are you doing here?” he asked, curiosity shining brightly in the question as he took one step towards her. 

 _I came here to steal your destrier for a while._ “I had a fight earlier with Brandon” she absentmindedly said, knowing that it would earn her questions “And i wanted to ride Blackfyre” she admitted, lifting her eyes up to him only to find him with questioning eyes. 

“Is everything okay with your brother?” he asked with true concern, and she just waved her hand at him, trying to lessen the importance of the matter “Yes, yes… It is normal for us to fight. I would be worried if we didn’t” she chuckled, even if the matter of their discussion still concerned her. “So, Blackfyre…” she let out.

She saw him grinning pleased with eyes as calmed as clear amethyst water. “He’s not the meekest horse to ride, my Princess” he chuckled, passing the horse a carrot that he instantly took in his mouth. 

“I’m well used to ride, snarly horses do not frighten me, _my Prince_ ” and she could not help it when a cocky smile took over her lips, she took a few steps towards the beast, positioning herself in front of Rhaegar and at one side of Blackfyre.

At her presence so near him, the horse trampled his hoof against the ground a few times, and she could tell he was an unfriendly beast to strangers. Indeed, the horse _was_ huge, an intimidating sight, specially for someone with her height. “I see you were not jesting” Lyanna observed a little perplexed, and Rhaegar soothed the destrier with pats on the neck, shushing him calmly. “You can ask Myles” he chuckled, and she could only wonder what happened to Rhaegar’s young squire “He got bitten on the forearm. If he continues to bite anyone who tries to saddle him, at this rate, i will have to saddle him myself every time i want to ride him” he denied with his head, but a comical expression had rooted on his face.

“So, he does not bite _you_ ” she observed, resisting the temptation to slide her hands upon the shining black hair of the magnificent beast in front of her. 

“No. He doesn’t” Rhaegar sighed, and bent down to pass beneath Blackfyre’s neck to her side “I think he knows is respect him” he stood up in all his height, and she had to look up at him to face him.  

She flicked her tongue, and her mouth wrinkled before asking “Do you think i could ride him someday?” she threw, playing with her clutched fingers clumsily. She felt like a little kid asking for permission, but after all, it was _his_ destrier, and she perfectly understood the feeling of closeness with such animal, specially when she felt it herself before. 

At that, the Prince seemed amused, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smile “Do you wanna try now?” he offered as he arched an eyebrow, the simple gesture was enough for her to understand it’s meaning. _You are challenging me, Rhaegar Targaryen._

“Of course” she responded cockily, and he flashed a row of perfectly aligned, white teeth to her in a smile that got her staring. For a few seconds, her eyes traced the way from his jaw up to his mouth, and all she could do was to lick her own lips in longing, trying to satisfy the sudden need that emerged from her with only that action.  

She just stood there, watching him as he saddled the horse with expertise after she agreed. They took Blackfyre outside, and she wondered how would she be able to stay up on the horse if that stubborn beast began to struggle between her legs. She was a rider, indeed, a _good_ one, some would say she was even better than a northern man. But she could not deny that, such a huge animal with such a temper, was a thing to behold. And for some, a thing to fear.

“Are you ready?” he asked from his place once he finished his task, extending her a hand to help her up. She took his hand without hesitation, and in a swift move, she was already upon Blackfyre, her legs pressing tightly at the sides of him when he began to move uneasy under her.

But when she thought she would ride him alone, Rhaegar proved her wrong. He jumped on, sitting behind her, placing his hand at her hips as a sign that she was the one who would held the reins. But in that moment, she couldn’t care less, because all she could focus on was on his hands resting on her hips tightly and his strong chest against her back, his scent quickly misted around her and suddenly, the fiery animal between her legs was no longer her biggest problem. “Just loose the reins a little bit” he spoke softly near her ear, and she could almost feel his hot breath there, the vibrations of his voice against her skin, _almost._ But it was only her imagination, craving for it.

She did as he told her, and Blackfyre quickly relaxed a little, his pace was calm and no longer so tensed as it had been at the beginning. She felt sudden satisfaction at that, a small achievement.  

They rode until they reached the Godswood, and she guided the destrier into it, the sudden silence of the place around them was pleasant, specially if she focused on Rhaegar’s breathing and how his chest would go up and down against her back, his hands securing her hips firmly. Gods, how could she concentrate like that? 

“Tell me, Your Highness” she spoke softly, chuckling at her own nervousness caused by him “Is this the only way to mount your destrier? With you at my back?” she teased him, and she swore that she could feel him smirking behind her. _Damn you._ “It would be fair to say i much rather do it this way. But if you prefer, _Princess…_ ” he paused for a moment, before pushing her wavy hair aside and bending down to the level of her ear “I could just get down here”

The huskiness in his voice sent shivers to her spine, a tickling sensation going down her neck, as his hot breath brushed her skin just like she imagined before, just like she wanted him to do so, and she could only close her eyes and let a small sigh go past her lips as she leaned back on him and rested her head back on his chest. “Oh, just shut up” she murmured, and she couldn’t wipe that satisfied smile off from her face. He probably noticed.

When she felt one of his arms surrounding her waist, pulling her closer to him, _impossibly_ closer, she gasped heavily at the pressure, her eyes still closed and her mouth parted, absentmindedly letting the horse take whichever direction he would like to take, she couldn’t care less. She felt his soft lips brushing against her ear,  and then depositing a gentle kiss on the crook of her neck that made her heart race furiously, and she hummed under her breath at the pleasant sensation _that_ had caused her. 

She turned her face slightly, and his lips touched the commissure of her lips, the touch was warm, and soft and light as a feather, but it sent jolts to her entire body. All she wanted to do was to stop that destrier right there and get down to kiss him fiercely, just like the night before. 

Pulling the reins slightly, Blackfyre stopped his pace, and Lyanna turned her head back sending a piercing look at Rhaegar with her hazel orbs that probably looked like they wanted to devour him, the reading was easy on him too. He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him, the indigo blaze of his stare said it all.

He got down first, only to catch her in his arms when she jumped down, and instead of putting her down, he instantly planted a kiss on those begging lips of hers, burning burning burning, as his arms encircled her small waist strongly. 

She breathed on his mouth, and he kissed her slowly, _wanting_ , massaging her tongue pleasantly against his, the sensation was _fucking_ amazing, and she could not help but put her hands at the back of his neck only to try and pull him closer, because if anything, she was _yearning_ for him, yearning for his hands to hold her tightly as he had done the night before, she _wanted_ him to leave her breathless once again. 

They broke apart, heavy breathing and burning stares, dark indigo clashing against steely hazel. “You’re beautiful” he gasped with unexpected devotion, and she felt his body relax entirely, but it didn’t matter, so was hers from the satisfying, relieving feeling that the contact had caused her, her hands were still pressuring the back of his neck, aching for him to snatch her mouth in his again. 

And as if he read her mind, he bent down and kissed her again, this time slower, one of his hands cupping her face gently, and it felt so good, every sensation he caused on her, every touch, every gaze, was there anything better than that? She doubted it. She pulled apart, only to look at him, her eyes trailing from his lips, passing upon his perfectly sculpted nose to those dark indigo eyes that contrasted almost divinely with his golden skin and the silvery strands that crossed his face. How could she like him so much it was unbearable to just look at him? But then again, how could she not. He was so fucking near perfection. “I’ve been thinking about _this_ the entire morning” she whispered against his lips before depositing a soft peck on them, the meaning was easy to read between the lines, _I’ve been wanting this the entire morning._ She  never felt more satisfied before in her entire life.

“Me too.” he huskily answered to her surprise “I wanted to go to you, but they told me you were with your father and brother…” he breathed excruciatingly near her, bitting her lower lip lightly and playfully “But all i wanted to do was to just find you and do exactly _this_ ” his voice was heavily husky, and it only lit the fire within her even more. 

“So did i.” she admitted, her chest going up and down as he bent down to rest his forehead against hers, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw softly “I thought you were busy… Besides…” 

“Besides…?” he repeated lazily the word she left hanging in the air before, one arm around her waist. “Besides… I didn’t know what to say or how to act” she muttered, her cheeks flushed intensely at the feeling of being so exposed before him, as if she was with nothing but bare, naked feelings. He chuckled, his perfect teeth showing again “You don’t need to say a thing about it” he kissed her again “Or put on an act” he took her mouth again, and she followed, their lips dancing against each other once again and their tongues fighting rhythmically at their pace. _Gods_ she thought when that same tickling sensation that rooted in her lower stomach last night reappeared _This man is going to be the end of me._  


	22. Underneath Red Leaves

As she laid her head back on his chest, his arms were around her waist and his hands rested upon her flat belly, his back against the trunk of a tree, and suddenly, not even the comfiest spots of the Red Keep could compare to the grass beneath them and Rhaegar’s chest supporting her back, with the mild sound of his breathing and the wind whispering it’s song while caressing the reddish leaves of the trees around them. How much time had it passed? It didn’t matter. It felt surreal. 

It felt too right.

“This reminds me of Winterfell” she muttered, her fingers lazily playing with his as she spoke “Without the snow and the freezing cold, of course” she mentioned as she chuckled lightly. 

“I’ve never been in the Godswood of Winterfell before” he murmured quietly behind her, and she could only think of what a pity that was. 

“Well, you should’ve seen it when we were back there…” she remembered warmly, and the memory was bittersweet, back to when the ground under her feet was cold and white and the wind would make her shiver with only a light blow, her surprise when a handsome prince offered her to practice with swords someday, her intense hatred towards him the moment she found out that he went there to take her away from her home, the sadness of leaving her family behind. It all seemed like some sort of dream. But she couldn’t say if it was a bad one, or the beginning of a good one.

“I didn’t have much time back then” he spoke on her hair, his fingers tracing small circles on her palms smoothly “But you can show me next time we visit Winterfell” he added and her blood froze for a moment at his words. 

She turned almost violently to face him, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips at the display of her surprise, and with eyes wide open she asked “Are you serious?” _Is he?_ And as he nodded, her blood warmed up again, in the most nostalgic joy at the simple thought of feeling the cool wind of the north against her skin once again, to feel the scent of her beloved winter roses -because she always had been fond of flowers. Of her winter roses.

She turned completely to him to reach his height, and clumsily pressed her lips against his, with closed eyes and a steady breathing, focusing only on his taste -Gods, he tasted so good and she felt so drunk of him. He gently cupped her cheek with a hand, his touch was so smooth, and she wondered if he could feel her cheeks burning under his fingers. 

But then, he stopped, and rested his forehead on hers, leaving her aching for more and with parted lips. “Yes. But… For now, we should go back to the Keep” he whispered against her wet, expectant lips, without dropping his hand from her face. The words were just as unwanted for him as they were disappointing for her, she could tell. 

He leaned in once again, and deposited another sweet, yet brief kiss on her tender lips, and this time, her eyes were locked to his, probably glimmering with what she thought was foolish hope. As if he could just push aside his duties as the Crown Prince “So soon?” her voice was helplessly weak, and he pressed his lips together in an almost sour grimace that could only be translated into apologies. Was she being childish? She certainly felt so, looking up at him with wide greyish eyes that were almost begging. 

“I’m sorry, Lyanna. I truly am.” every single line held such a guilty spark in it, she felt her face softening instantly at him. Before he could say anything else, she silenced him with her lips on him once again, it was all she wanted anyway, she didn’t need an explanation of how he was the one maintaining that Keep together, the _realm_ together. She was a constant witness. “I know” she sighed against his ivory skin, closed eyes as she placed a hand on his chest, only to prevent her from stealing another sweet kiss from him once again. 

She felt his fingers lifting her chin, and her eyes were once again locked with his amethyst ones that held so much warmth in them towards her. “I promise, we will have an entire day for this soon” 

“Fine” she murmured, pressing her nose softly against his “But you owe me, Rhaegar Targaryen…” she smiled mischievously at him, and he caught the same smile quickly, dazzling eyes lingering upon hers. 

The ride back to the Keep was quiet amongst the trees, and even if Lyanna was never one to let a man ride for or _with_ her, this time, she let herself simply _be_ trapped there, between his arms and his chest and the scent of honeyed-nut dazzling her senses sweetly. 

And just as relaxed as she was, she could feel him breathing softly behind her, with that lopsided smile of his she knew he had imprinted on his face.  

But just like any of her good dreams, it didn’t last for long. As soon as they arrived to the stables and dismounted Blackfyre, one of the guards hurriedly arrived to the stables. She had to wonder, how did they even know where _he_ was all the time? It was ridiculous. Unless half the castle was looking for him and they already saw him coming with her.  

“Your Highness” Lyanna heard the young man’s voice calling her husband while she stroked Blackfyre’s nose softly, parting her attention between the new acquired trustfulness with the destrier and what the young guard had to say. “Easy boy, easy” she spoke softly to the snorting beast besides her, who now seemed familiarized with her. 

“Maester Pycelle had been looking for you, Your Highness. A letter from Dorne has arrived, and the King ordered Maester Pycelle to give the letter to you, so you can make the arrangements” 

 _The arrangements?_ Lyanna thought, and as if Rhaegar was thinking the exact same thing at the exact same moment, the question she formulated in her head, went past his lips “Arrangements for what?” he asked, and a small hint of embarrassment could be seen in the young guard’s face “I-I don’t know, Your Highness. That’s what Maester Pycelle told me, but he didn’t clarify” 

“Very well then, tell Maester Pycelle he can leave the letter in my solar, i’ll deal with it later” Rhaegar ordered in his rich voice, while Lyanna passed Blackfyre’s reins to a stable boy, who took the horse with wary eyes and troubled expression. 

“You can leave if you have to” Lyanna mentioned behind Rhaegar, and he turned to her. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want me to take you to your chambers?” he offered his arm for her, and she instantly took it. If he had to go, she would have a proper goodbye, she had to. 

She tangled her arm around his, sending her shoulders back, adopting a rather regal position besides him that made him chuckle at the exaggerated pose “Absolutely” she spoke while lifting her chin up high. _Just like Cersei Lannister would_ She thought with mockery and a hint of joy at the same time. She had to thank the Gods for the departure of such an irritating, conceited creature, if she had to endure her presence once again, she didn’t know what she’d be capable of.  

But then, every thought about the lioness of Casterly Rock faded, when they reached her chambers and they stopped right in front of the doors -Those doors that held her body tightly against his the night before and that were the only witnesses to the passionate moment they shared.- That foreign heat rooted within her once again at the simple thought. _Gods._

“I guess you have to leave to attend those _such, such_ important matters. Don’t you?” she slid her teeth into her lower lip in front of him, failing to contain a smile. “Aha…” he stepped closer, his smile was the simple lift of a corner of his mouth, one of his arms already encircling her small waist. Even if his _stupid_ smirk and the way he approached made her slightly nervous, she kept her cool mask on “Go on then, you have already escorted your wife to her chambers. You are free to go” she smirked back at him, and when she tried to walk away from his grip, he only pulled her small body closer. Once again that day, she felt the heat of his lips almost touching her, his eyes burning every inch of the skin they travelled upon. 

“I shall give my wife a goodbye kiss, then” he leaned and murmured against her mouth, and she lost it. Pushing her mouth abruptly against his, she tasted him once again, Gods, she would never get tired of it. Her fingers rooted in his hair, and his hands travelled down from her back to her hips. Why did he have to leave already? 

She wanted him to keep holding her strongly against him, to keep smelling that honeyed-nut scent around her, to just-

“Yuck…”  she heard a small voice, and she knew he did too when their lips parted from each other’s abruptly. “Disgusting” the childish voice sounded again. As they chuckled against each other’s mouths, little Viserys stood in front of them with the most disgusted face she had ever seen in a five year old, his big lavender eyes reprimanding childishly both of them as his little arms crossed upon his chest. 

“What are you doing here, Vis?” she asked, removing herself from Rhaegar’s embrace and clutching down to Viserys’ height, ignoring Rhaegar’s little growl. 

“Well, i was hiding from Septa Violet, she’s boring” the child grouched, with puffing cheeks “Why were you sucking Rhaegar’s face?” he innocently asked, and a nervous laughter was all she could produce while her cheeks burning hot. She threw a glance to Rhaegar, who was standing behind her with pure amusement on his factions. “We were kissing, Viserys. Married people do that.” he explained with explicit amusement in his voice, and his younger brother made a face, the same one he had when he found them kissing “Well that’s disgusting” he sentenced with his arms still crossed upon his chest “Yuck! I will _never_ kiss a girl like that” 

“Not even your future bride?” Lyanna asked, trying to sound as serious as she could to a five year old. “Nope. I won’t have a bride. I will have a dragon!” 

“Oh” Rhaegar said “And what will you call him?” 

“Balerion” Viserys smiled “Like the one from the books you used to read to me” he mentioned proudly. 

“That will be a scary dragon” Lyanna heard Rhaegar say, in his most regal and serious voice. Viserys’ smile only grew wider. “Read the story for me again, Rhaegar. Please” Viserys asked, looking up to his older brother pleadingly. 

“I can’t right now, Vis. I’m busy. Tonight?” he offered the kid a solution, but he didn’t seem to like it too much. “You are always busy” he sighed, disappointment in every word “But ok” Viserys spoke resigned, and Lyanna suddenly felt herself ridiculously related to the boy’s feelings towards his brother. 

If she felt the urge to keep Rhaegar with her for more time, she could perfectly understand Viserys’ wishes to play with his older brother all day. Back to when she was just a little girl, she used to play with her three brothers, laughing and running and chasing each other in the yard. But Viserys… He had a much older brother with the obligation of looking after their mad royal father, and also try to keep the realm together. 

She felt small jab of pity on her chest, if she thought about it, Viserys could easily feel very lonely in that place. And growing up with septas was nothing but a pain in the ass, that she knew.  

“Maybe i can take you to feed the swans of the gardens now, while Rhaegar works” Lyanna offered, and Viserys’ eyes widened in excitement. On the inside, Lyanna felt triumphant. “Really?!” the boy almost shout, Lyanna nodded. When Viserys threw his arms around her neck, she lifted him up from the ground and held him up in her arms. After all, her affection for that little silver tornado only grew bigger and bigger everyday. 

“Just go” Lyanna smiled sweetly to Rhaegar, still holding Viserys “I’ll take care of him” 

For a moment, her silver husband seemed besotted by what he was witnessing, but quickly, Rhaegar smiled back at her. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know he was silently thanking her. “Be good, Viserys” he jokingly warned him, before giving him a small kiss on the forehead.

They both looked so alike, anyone could mistake them for father and child, with their blond strands, 

valyrian eyes and sharp factions, even if Viserys’ ones were still more rounded because of his youth, it was crystal clear he would have very similar features to his older brother’s. She couldn't help but wonder, if they ever had a child, would he look like Viserys as well? 

She felt strange thinking about babes and wether they would look like Rhaegar or not, having babes was never one of her goals in life, absolutely not, and she would not start dreaming of them now. That was far from what she wanted. 

Shaking the thought out of her head, she gave Rhaegar a small peck on the lips, only not to freak Viserys out once again with the ‘face sucking’, and Rhaegar left, leaving her there with his so-alike little brother.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I see you’re in a good mood” Arthur grinned at him, and only then he realized how painfully obvious his foolish smirk probably was. Specially when most people said he was too serious for his own good. And specially for his best friend. “Does Princess Lyanna has anything to do with it?” the knight asked mischievously.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he could not deny his northern wife had lifted his spirit in a strange way and had awaken a foreign interest in her. He liked her, it would be only fair to say he exceedingly liked her by that time.

Lyanna was beautiful, more than any other, but it wasn’t about her looks. It was about that hint of innocence in her eyes, even if she tried to hide it under her sharp responses and moody attitude sometimes, it was the way she hated pretending and that untamable ways of hers that had him thus.

There was something about her so addicting, so liberating, it dazzled him. 

But how could he explain that to Arthur if not even he was sure of what was happening?

“That reply will do for present” Arthur insisted in a jesting manner, pointing exactly to his lack of an answer.

“It scares me how fast gossip travels through these hallways” he laughed. _Lyanna would probably be upset to find out._

“Well, you know the maids, the only entertainment for them are the lives of the royals” Arthur said absentmindedly as he walked besides him  “I see you like gossiping with the young maids, my friend” Rhaegar jested.

“You are indeed very humorous today, Your Highness” the knight mentioned as they both entered his solar, the fresh breeze of the sea brushing against his skin instantly when he opened the door.

But then, his thoughts of his beautiful northern wife faded as soon as his eyes fixed on the paper resting upon his desk, folded carefully with a familiar seal on it.

The moment he saw the wax seal with a spear piercing a sun, his eyes narrowed in wonder. _The Martells._ His curiosity was quickly satisfied after opening the letter, reading it’s content carefully and processing each line written on it with black ink. And only then he understood what Maester Pycelle had meant.

Knowing his father, he probably accepted reluctantly, and probably had been persuaded by one of his advisors. _Lord Varys. He’s the only one who could’ve convinced him._ He could only thank the Gods that Aerys decided to throw the Martells upon _him_ and didn’t try to deal with them himself. Who knew what kind of offense he would throw at them, and House Martell was not one to take insults easily, that he knew. 

“They are coming” he directed his eyes to Ser Arthur, who suddenly looked just as surprised as he was. “Oberyn Martell and Elia Martell” he clarified for his friend.

Even if he was relieved that Aerys hadn’t tried anything to insult the Dornish, he wondered what would they want in the capital. 

“What for?” Arthur asked, apparently just as intrigued as he was about the reasons for this visit. The content of the letter itself didn’t say much, it just said that Oberyn Martell and his sister Elia were visiting King’s Landing purely for political reasons. And he could already imagine what reasons those would be. Power.

The relationships with Dorne were scarce, and sometimes it even seemed that they were a separated Kingdom from Westeros. But they weren’t, and he knew that very well. “Political reasons” he recited the words written on the paper to his friend, because it was all it said anyway. “They must want something” Rhaegar observed as he put the paper back on the desk, and Arthur nodded in agreement.

 _If the dornish want to come, then let them come._ What kind of damage could they actually cause anyway? None. _None._ He knew Prince Oberyn, the man was proud, some would call him ‘promiscuous’, and free minded, but it didn’t bother him, he wasn’t one to judge, specially if there were no reason to. He respected the dornish culture. And Princess Elia, well… He only crossed a few words with her back in Harrenhall, he barely even knew her.

He closed the paper, folding it carefully to it’s original state, and put it back on the desk.

“I guess we must make the arrangements for their arrival” Rhaegar sighed.

“Maybe my sister can help you… She was Princess Elia’s childhood friend, i’m sure she would be well disposed to make the arrangements for their arrival” 

“Very well, we will be having dornish guests then”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was shorter than i expected... sorry about that. Next one is going to be a long one! Good night y'all... Lots of love.


	23. Of Calmed Waters

The little Prince’s eyelids were shut softly as a sign of the peaceful sleep he sank into, with his small hands clutched, one near his face, and the other one glued to his mouth due to the kid’s habit of sucking his thumb. 

Lyanna, with slow and careful moves, grabbed Viserys’ small hand on her own, pulling his thumb out of his mouth gently not to wake him up in the process. The boy twitched slightly then, only to return to his peaceful state seconds later. Lyanna smiled.

She could still recall Old Nan’s warnings to Benjen, back to when he used to have the exact same habit the little Prince had. Old Nan would tell him stories about children with ugly teeth, and Benjen would only look at her with horrified eyes as wide as eggs, begging to Old Nan to watch him in his sleep. Lyanna almost chuckled at the sweet memory. 

“He’s been doing it for months now” the Queen’s silky voice drifted into the room, and she recognized it immediately.

She didn't even noticed her presence, she was too focused on Viserys and the old memory of Benjen's childhood. 

Lyanna turned her head to look at her.

Even if Rhaella’s presence was ever so pleasant, with her stunning beauty and that air of serenity, those times in which she carried the evident, tainting sequels of the abuse she suffered, would always send arrows of sorrow that pierced right in the middle of her soul. The gentle Targaryen Queen, how could anyone ever lay a single hand on such a lovely creature? 

Lyanna quickly moved her sight from the dark spots smudging the skin of her neck and cheek, to the sleeping Viserys. The last thing she wanted was for Rhaella to feel uncomfortable under her gaze.

“My little brother used to do the same. But, he eventually stopped” she mentioned fondly, trying to push the violet bruises out of her mind.

“Thank you” Rhaella said, sitting next to Lyanna on the edge of the bed. “For taking care of him today.” she pushed some strands of hair behind the ear of the sleeping princeling with a feather-like touch. 

“I enjoy our playtime” Lyanna chuckled “He really wanted Rhaegar to read a story for him tonight, but he fell asleep quickly after his bath” 

The Queen’s eyes softened at the mention of both his sons, and a vague smile adorned her face. “He’s very fond of Rhaegar” 

“He is” Lyanna acknowledged, recalling the image of Rhaegar kissing Viserys' forehead tenderly that afternoon “He looks up at him”

_How could he not?_

“I’m so glad is him he looks up at…” Rhaella muttered, leaving the unsaid floating in the air.  _And not Aerys._

“He admires you too. He adores you” 

“I know” the Queen smiled sweetly, suddenly taking Lyanna’s hand in her own “He’s also very fond of you, you know? They _both_ are” 

At the statement, she felt the heat lurking up to her cheeks as well as the sudden lost of her ability to speak. To her embarrassment, Rhaella noticed, and gave her a kind smile. “My son, the older one” she clarified with what seemed little amusement at her reaction “He really cares about you, sweet girl”

Her heart almost melted, and her breathing stopped for a few seconds.

“I-I know” Lyanna babbled, holding the urge to laugh nervously right there successfully. 

“I pray everyday for your marriage to be a happy one.”

“It is” Lyanna replied as a reflex of her new acquired feelings towards her husband, but also, for Rhaella’s tranquility. Still, it felt odd to openly admit -or at least speak about it- what was happening to her. But with the Queen, the talk was always smooth and fluid and _easy_. Something about her always soothed her unsettled moods, specially when it came to her son. 

“And for that, i thank the Gods.” 

A brief moment of silence took place, in which Rhaella focused her eyes fondly on her little son, and Lyanna could not help but wonder: Why did such a loving and caring mother had to endure everything she endured? Why? 

Unwittingly, her eyes travelled all the way from her neck to her cheek, where a dark, lilac bruise smudged her skin unkindly, and she could swear that was the result of a bite. The thought made her chest feel heavy, and even more so when Rhaella turned her silk-soft gaze to her, a heartbreaking sensation suddenly misted the air.

“I know what you are thinking, sweet girl” Rhaella said, and Lyanna flushed uncontrollably after feeling caught staring. But yet, the Queen was not unkind. She never was. “Every single one of us is given a burden in this life the moment we are born. Some things we chose, some others we don’t” and as she spoke, she seemed to be remembering something so far away from the reality they were in. Was the Queen suddenly swallowed by a memory? “But we must be strong. Always.” she sentenced cooly.

“I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable” Lyanna apologized.

“You didn’t.” Rhaella comforted her, lifting Lyanna’s chin mildly when she looked down. “I just… It’s not fair” Lyanna complained, frowning deeply. If she felt horrified when Aerys threatened to ‘bed her’ himself, words only, that eventually faded, she couldn’t bear to think of how Rhaella felt during all those years. Abuse after abuse, in every possible way. The single idea made her stomach twirl, partly in anger, partly in angst. “There must be something that can be done… Maybe if Rhaegar-“ 

“No, sweet Lyanna. There’s nothing my son can do about it. Not without endangering his own life” she murmured, and Lyanna felt her heart sinking down “That’s why i must ask a favor from you” 

“Anything” Lyanna quickly responded, squeezing Rhaella’s hand inadvertently. 

“You must not mention to Rhaegar _anything_ about _this_ ” she said, passing two fingers smoothly upon the lilac spots on her creamy skin. 

“But he knows” Lyanna breathed, knowing that Rhaegar was absolutely aware about his father’s manners towards his mother. 

There was nothing she could tell him that he didn't know. 

“He knows it happens. He doesn’t know when. And i certainly don’t want him to see me like this. Understand, Lyanna… I don't want to mortify him anymore.” Lyanna looked down to Viserys, the princeling’s peaceful sleep was suddenly enviable “Please. It’s for his own good.” 

Biting her lower lip insistently, she nodded as a reply to the Queen’s petition. 

A part of her, wanted to let _him_ know, to help him do something to stop that bestiality. But the other part of her knew from experience that it would be useless, and that the only thing she would probably accomplish would be to mortify a son with his mother’s pain. And in the worst scenario, push him to do something stupid enough to get a punishment. Or even death.

 _Don’t be confused, dear wife. My father wouldn’t bat an eye to have me burned at the slightest gesture of insolence towards him. And you with me._ His sour words echoed in her mind, stinging into her chest with the exact same intensity as in the scarlet night in which he spoke them. “I promise” 

“Thank you” Rhaella whispered, her delicate features enlighten by the soft gleam of the candles around them. 

Lyanna could not say she felt comfortable with the promise she made, it would mean she would have to keep quiet and just limit herself to watch and support Rhaella in her suffering. And even if it wasn’t explicitly _lying_ , she would have to remain silent with Rhaegar. Internally, she knew she would be screaming. 

Feeling suddenly dejected, she stood up and prepared herself to abandon the stance, because all she wanted to do was to sink her face in a pillow and let her sleep swallow her into something else, into something  _good._ “I should go to sleep now. My father and brother leave in the morrow” she excused herself successfully. 

“Oh, i would’ve loved to bid my farewell to them” she lamented, and Lyanna knew that she would not be seeing the Queen on the gardens or anywhere else in the Red Keep that wasn't her chambers within the next days. Until those bruises faded. “I will tell them” Lyanna offered, putting her best smile on her face in a clumsy attempt to uplift the mood. 

“Thank you, my sweet. Now go. You must be tired” 

“Good night” she muttered for both, Rhaella and Viserys before leaving the stance with her heart in her throat. 

The way back to her chambers was silent, so silent she thought her musings would consume her before she reached her bed. All she could hear was the sound of her own steps and the metallic sound of Ser Jonothor’s armor behind her. The knight guarding her that night was not a very talkative one, she learned that in her months in the capital. It didn't matter, because she did not want to talk, she might've exploded in tears in that very moment.

When she reached her chambers, the slightly open door made her tilt her head in confusion, for the moment, making the thoughts about a battered Queen go away. It was too late for any servant to be doing the cleaning. Was somebody still inside? 

She hurried into the room, leaving Ser Jonothor standing behind her at her door, still like a statue in its place. 

The first thing she caught inside the room, was Brandon sitting on the edge of her bed, with his hands clasped and piercing her with his steely eyes. “Brandon?” she asked.

He got up to his feet, and their height difference became obvious. “Lyanna” he called her name, pronouncing it eased, calmed, as if nothing had happened between them that morning.  

Ever since their fight early in the morning, they didn’t speak again, so Lyanna couldn’t help but wonder if something happened to him. Whenever they quarreled as badly as they did, the bad blood between them would last for days, until finally their moods spiked down and they could finally be next to each other once again without arguing.

But now… Barely a couple of hours had passed.  

“What are you doing here?” she inquired, turning around to close the door behind her, and not only surprised by his visit then, but also by the hour he chose. Was his collected appearance just a disguise? _No, that’s not something Brandon would do or how he would act._  

“I didn’t want to go leaving things thus” Brandon said against any judgement she could possibly make, as he took a few steps towards her balcony, facing the darkened sight of King's Landing's sea at night.

She approached him hesitantly, surprised by his sudden change of attitude towards her and that odd calmness in his usually explosive personality. “Are you finally admitting you’re an idiot?” she asked, prepared to start the second part of their fight at any moment after that comment.

But once again that night, Brandon took her by surprise.

“Yes” he chuckled, turning around to face her, and where she thought she’d find annoyed or angry eyes flashing to her, she only found _sad_  looking ones. “I’m sorry” he said, and she thought she could just fall on her back at any time. “Brandon… Are you feeling ill, brother?” she asked cautiously, mindfully watching him, expecting him to yell at her at any moment or to find even a slight sign of irritation. Instead, her last sentence only made him laugh.

“Can’t I just tell my little sister nice things without being ill?” 

“I suppose you can.” she lifted an eyebrow high in her forehead “You’re not such a big ass after all” Lyanna said, with a more relaxed semblance upon her face, sighing relieved after Brandon’s sudden display of good will. At least for once, he had not been such an intransigent idiot, blind to his own mistakes. _Are you finally being mature, Brandon?_

“Lyanna” he stepped forward to her, a glum smile plastered on his face with a pair of eyes matching it. _Something_ was going on. She could feel it in her blood. “I want you to know, dear sister… I love you. And i will miss you terribly” 

She felt something inside her chest snap instantly, like a bad feeling rising up, or like a little thorn pushing it’s way into her chest. 

“Brandon” she called concerned, noticing her brother’s unusual, cheerless mood. “Is something wrong?” 

“No” he smiled at her “I just wanted to say goodbye properly” and then, he -surprisingly- wrapped her up in a tight embrace that almost left her without air. 

Without understanding, without knowing the reason behind his odd attitude, she reciprocated the gesture, hooking her arms to her brother’s back in a tender manner. “I love you too, brother” she sighed, with that little splinter still sunken within her chest. Something was not right.

Lyanna shook her head mildly. It was probably just the recent sour sip she had at Viserys' bedchambers. 

She held Brandon tightly, and all the ire and the problems and the stupid, _hurtful_ things they said earlier were gone like a smooth breeze.


	24. In The Middle

The moment the news reached her ears, she wasn’t surprised, because in the end, everything made sense. Everything.

Brandon had escaped.

“Brandon left” he had said, with icy cold eyes and a severe grimace that made him look just as petrous as the statues at the crypts of Winterfell.  

When she heard of it, time stopped along with her heart, and she just stood there, frozen for a brief time, listening to everything her father said, listening to Rhaegar’s questions, watching everyone’s amazement -and Lady Ashara’s lack of it when she heard of it. 

Where? Some said they saw him embark a ship that went to Braavos in a dark, hooded cloak, hiding his characteristic Stark traits behind it, some others claimed that he went south, heading probably to Dorne, one of the few places in Westeros Lyanna could actually picture him living in. But, wherever Brandon had gone, she was sure they would not find him, unless he wanted to be found. And Dorne was probably not the smartest choice at that moment if he wanted to remain hidden.

With an icy cold expression on his hard face, her father had left King’s Landing to go to the Riverlands, aware that Lord Hoster Tully would not be pleased with the news and that the whole situation would blow up and make a huge mess that would stain the good name of her House. Her poor, honorable father, always so upright, so honest… And now, Brandon made sure that the name of their House, the name Lord Rickard had jealously protected for decades, was down down down in the mud. 

She could certainly not blame Brandon for leaving, because one day she felt the exact same way -trapped and sold to a stranger, and eventually owned by him-. The only difference, was that her brother had found the strength to leave everything behind when she didn’t. 

Still, even if she understood his reasons better than anyone else, she could not turn her sight from what he did: He ashamed not only his family, but also, his lovely bride and her family. She could only wonder how would her father mend an offense like that. Lord Tully would probably cease any relationship with House Stark after such an embarrassment. Poor Lady Catelyn. 

Days had passed quickly, maybe too quickly even for her liking, and all she knew about her brother was that he faded like mist in the air, and did not receive a single raven from her father. 

She heard people talking, oh, yes, she did. Sharp tongued and venomous, all hidden behind hypocritical smiles. They did not let one opportunity slip between their claws when it came to the subject, talking of how the Princess’ brother, the Stark heir had disgraced his family, of how their supposed honorability was nothing more than well concealed hypocrisy. And she, of course, as the perfect example of a wolf blooded northern -a trait she proudly shared with her shameless brother- had jumped to defend her House with fieriness expected of a Stark she-wolf. 

Lyanna chuckled as she remembered the threats she made, feeling a little bit guilty for enjoying so terribly much the horrified faces of those she heard speaking illy of her family when she claimed that, next time they said such things again against her House, would be the last time they would have a tongue. 

At least recalling that, gave her some small satisfaction. Specially when she occasionally crossed stares from afar with them. They would look as scared as the rats they were.

But, somehow, even if she knew that what Brandon did was beyond wrong, a dangerous part of her could not blame him for such actions. Shame on me. He had the guts to do what she had wanted to do a long time ago, but couldn’t. Even if things had turned out to be… Different, as she had expected them to be in her life as a Princess, how could she have known a thing like that back then? When all she wanted to do was to cry herself to death because the Dragons had taken her away from her home.

Lyanna shook her head slightly, trying to make those dark musings go away, because after all, there was no point in reviving old sorrows. 

Looking at the vast extension of blue waters in front of her, she sighed deeply, and her thoughts went to Lady Catelyn Tully, whose orbs held such a resemblance to King’s Landing’s sea color -and depth. 

Brandon was probably an idiot if he didn’t like Catelyn Tully, the girl was everything any Lord would ask for, she was beautiful, delicate, with a sweet temper, and conveniently well positioned. Not that she would take the last thing in account if anybody asked her about the lady’s virtues. She would be perfect for any other noble Lord, one that was honorable and respectful enough to love her and care for her in the way she deserved. But not for Brandon. 

And yet, she seemed so infatuated with her older brother. Just like any lady would be with her future husband. 

She could only wonder, what would her father do to mend such a terrible offense to Lord Hoster Tully and his daughter? Specially to her, the sensitive, lovely Catelyn. 

But no matter how badly she wanted to hear something from them, not a single raven had reached her. 

She sighed in boredom, the sun was setting in front of her, in the middle of dark clouds that threatened to storm above King’s Landing dangerously. Another day that had passed without news. Another day in which she could not see Rhaegar either because of Aerys’ whims. The king had lately requested for his presence at his side in the throne room, everyday, taking the little time they had for themselves from her. He even took Viserys, claiming that he should not be ‘spoiled’ as his firstborn was thanks to Rhaella, and that he should learn how to be a man now. 

In her wildest dreams, she often saw Rhaegar taking Aerys’ throne. In her wildest dreams, she often saw rivers of blood flowing fiery at the base of the throne. Aerys’ blood. 

“Princess” Arthur’s voice tore her dark musings apart, and they dissipated like smoke in the breeze “It’s drizzling. You should get inside. You could get a cold” he observed, violet eyes up in the sky and then on her. 

Just then, she acknowledged the tiny drops of crystal like water on her skin, and how they seemed to shyly fall upon her, falling delicately still. 

“It’s been raining a lot lately” Lyanna mentioned as she hurried back under the roof, throwing one last quick glance to the promising dark clouds in the horizon. 

“Tis’ a rainy season”

“I suppose” Lyanna shrugged, a shy smile covering her lips “Ser Arthur” she called.

“Princess?”

“Lyanna” she corrected, amused “Would you accompany me in my boredom?” 

The knight lifted an eyebrow, half amused half intrigued “I will” he cleverly opted for not to call her neither by her name, neither by her royal title. She smiled again.

“Then let’s go get my bow. It’s been a while since the last time i’ve practiced”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You will find out what those _Martells_ are plotting when they arrive here. Did you hear me?” Aerys barked, and Rhaegar held back a threatening yawn of weariness. Instead of showing his tiredness, he only nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the King’s usual display of paranoia. “Yes, Your Grace” 

“They must want something” the King mumbled, his pale eyes piercing through him like sharp shattered glass. But even if his gaze was one of a madman, his suspicions were not so mistaken. They wanted something, they were always the most unsatisfied House of those Seven Kingdoms, always wanting something more. 

And they were just days away from the capital.

“I will deal with them, father” he said as if he was reading a line, emotionless and with heavy lids as a result of the long hours working at the court. 

Of course he would be the one dealing with them, otherwise, the issue could end up in a disaster. House Martell never took offenses lightly.  _And they shouldn't._

Aerys snorted, and what seemed to be a smile ghosted on his thin lips. “Yes, yes, you will. You will be my eyes and ears. And keep them away from me, Rhaegar…" he frowned, wrinkling his nose "I don’t like their smell” 

_Indeed, this will be a disaster._

Rhaegar turned his gaze to Ser Lewyn Martell, quick and apologetic. He knew Ser Lewyn was standing close enough to them for him to hear the King’s offensive comment towards his own House. The knight returned the gesture with a comprehensive look, nodding slightly in what he supposed was acceptance. Even if it was clearly not his fault, and if everyone in that room knew that the King had lost his mind a long time ago, Rhaegar still felt the embarrassment creeping up to his cheeks, relieved that the slightly golden tone of his skin would conceal it enough for it not to be so obvious. 

"You can retire now, boy" Aerys waved his hand mindlessly, and he nodded, feeling the relief unleashing inside.

Rhaegar bowed down to his father, only to turn around and leave the throne room with firm footsteps, feeling the weight of weariness upon his shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another transition chapter.
> 
> Elia and Oberyn in the next one. 
> 
> Thanks for the love guys! Always nice to chat with you and hear your opinions.


	25. The Arrival

With their bronzed skin, their silky dark hair and mischievous eyes, the dornish arrived in the capital, and they were as exotic as they were charming. 

Prince Oberyn was a tall man, yet not as tall as Rhaegar or Brandon, but tall enough. He had dark eyes, eyes of a viper some said, that glimmered in amusement every time one of his bold comments made the young maids serving them blush. His smile seemed hussy, with those thin lips that parted forming a wide smile to her and Rhaegar shamelessly. 

And his sister… 

Elia Martell was not a typical beauty, no. She had a slim frame, she stood thin and straight as a spear. Her ribs jumped to the sight through her dress’ openings, her skin held a beautiful copper tone. Despite her apparent frailness, she still had a womanly shape, _a beautiful one,_ Lyanna observed. Her eyes, just like her brother’s, were alluring and seductive -a family trait, probably?-, but _prettier,_ framed by long, thick, dark lashes that matched the color of her long, curly hair. The woman was a vision, an exotic vision of bronzed skin and raven, silky hair. If there was one word to describe her, it would be ‘attractive’.

“It’s good to see you again, Prince Rhaegar” Oberyn Martell’s voice was soft as silk, but his eyes were sharp and sparkling towards them “And in such a good company” the dornish man directed his gaze to Lyanna and smirked at her.

“You too, Prince Oberyn.” Rhaegar flashed one of his charming white smiles while resting a hand on her lower back, inviting her to greet the man  “This is my wife, Lyanna Stark” he introduced her, using her House’s name to present her. Somehow, it made her feel proud, to be presented as her own and not just someone’s wife. “Nice to meet you” Lyanna finally murmured.

The dornish Prince took her hand in his, and deposited a soft kiss on her pale knuckles, making Lyanna feel slightly uncomfortable with the audacious stares he threw at her. The man was too bold for her liking.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Princess.” the man said with voice as soft as a feather “This is my sister, Princess Elia Martell” he introduced her, and the beautiful, slim silhouette of the dornish Princess approached them confidently. 

There was something about Elia, the way she smiled, maybe the way her eyes lingered upon her for a little too long, as if she just studied her, only to go to her husband later with entrancement, she wasn't sure, but there was something strange about her. That made her feel strange instantly.

Something felt odd. But it was alright, because Lyanna was a northerner, and northerners were always more distrustful, more guarded of strangers, that’s what her father used to say. It was just her, probably. _It’s just me._

“Tis’ a pleasure to see you again, Prince Rhaegar” the woman purred with a lovely smile, dimples carved on her sun kissed cheeks gracefully “You too, Princess Lyanna” she claimed, and Lyanna smiled sweetly.

“Shall we go?” Rhaegar offered “You must be tired from they journey. We will show you your chambers” he offered kindly, and they agreed.

Following Rhaegar and Oberyn, who went ahead, she suddenly felt Elia Martell’s arm surrounding hers in an unexpected, fraternal gesture. Lyanna looked up at the dornish beauty, and she found a smile so big she thought that it had to be hurting her cheeks. 

“We shall leave them talk” Elia chuckled, her eyes directed towards Rhaegar and Oberyn “The Red Keep is magnificent, Princess. King’s Landing is a beautiful city” Elia mentioned mindlessly. 

Her steps were long and elegant as she spoke, and Lyanna wanted to let a nervous chuckle out. She never felt so much like a clumsy child before, at least not lately. Elia Martell, with her feminine manners and her foreign charms, certainly made her feel like the wild child from the north many said she was. _Crap._  

“It is… But i’ve heard Dorne is a beautiful place as well, and that the Water Gardens are a sight that one must see at least once in life” Lyanna responded, remembering what Brandon and her had read when they were children dreaming about traveling Westeros and beyond. 

“Dorne is a complete different thing… In fact, it’s completely different from the rest of Westeros. Dorne also has… A different life stye” Elia offered, and Lyanna perfectly understood the meaning behind her words.

Dorne was famous for it’s free ways, for accepting behaviors that in other parts of Westeros would be seen illy. _Maybe that’s why they think Brandon went to Dorne._ “So i’ve heard. Lady Ashara Dayne used to tell us about it” she limited herself to say.

“Oh, Lady Ashara. We are childhood friends… I would love to see her later” Elia said fondly, squeezing Lyanna’s arm with her own for a second. 

“I’m sure she will be delighted to see you too” Lyanna mentioned, rather distracted by her husband’s figure in front of her. “She will be very happy to have you here. She will surely pay you a visit later”

“I’m sure she will. And maybe we can have a small reunion tomorrow. So I will not just see my childhood friend again, but also get to _meet_ the new Targaryen Princess” Elia expressed in her subdued voice, looking straight forward to where Rhaegar and Prince Oberyn were, looking more concentrated on them than in Lyanna for a second. 

Lyanna blinked a few times, the dornish Princess was not only beautiful and graceful, but acted extremely amiable. Then why did Elia Martell made her feel so odd? She certainly did not feel intimidated, even if the dornish Princess was a few years older than her, and had such a flawless poise compared to her usual clumsiness. _It’s probably just my northern blood._ She reminded herself. 

“I will arrange for it” Lyanna smiled, and Elia laughed softly. 

“Yes, please. If it does not take so much of your time”

“No, of course not.” 

Elia seemed ready to say something more, her lips parted as if she was going to, curiosity dancing on her dark eyes. It was as if they were amused by her single presence. _Odd_. But whatever the dornish Princess was going to say, was cut by her brother. 

“I’m gonna take my leave now, sweet sister” Oberyn Martell directed his words to Elia, and the woman looked in his direction, lifting a thin eyebrow up high. “And where are you going?” she asked.

Prince Oberyn raised both eyebrows in a gesture, looking at her and then directing his eyes to Rhaegar “I have issues to discuss with Prince Rhaegar. Remember?” 

“But now?” Elia said, and Lyanna felt as if Elia had just spoken for her too.They had just arrived to the capital and the man already wanted to talk about his reasons. At least he went straight to the point, she had to observe.

“Tis’ better if we speak now. So later we can fully enjoy King’s Landing.” the Prince paused for a second “Specially at night.” Oberyn grinned suggestively “Better to take care of the matter in its crib. Don’t you think, Prince Rhaegar?” 

Lyanna felt Rhaegar’s gaze upon her for a brief moment. “As you wish, Prince Oberyn” Rhaegar responded in a neutral tone. 

“Fine. Then I’m gonna go and unpack” Elia waved her hands carelessly. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I presume you, having the sharp mind everyone says you have, already know what I’m gonna ask of you, Prince Rhaegar” 

Oberyn Martell took a seat resting his back lazily on the chair across the table, and he was right. He knew what he was gonna ask. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. “I suppose you could have only one reason to visit King’s Landing, Prince Oberyn” Rhaegar began “Wine?” he offered to the man in front of him, and he nodded, extending his goblet to Rhaegar.

“Dornish. You have good taste” Oberyn smiled after trying the crimson liquid, proud of what his lands produced. “Let me hear your suppositions” he invited, raising his goblet.

“You want to improve Dorne’s position in Westeros. Strengthen the alliance between House Martell and the Crown, as it is your right” Rhaegar said indifferently, and Oberyn smirked. “The only alternative is that you came here for a position in the Small Council. Is not really hard to guess.” 

The dornish Prince kept the smirk on his face, his fingers drummed against the table before he spoke again. “We can skip that part of the conversation then”

“Having foreseen the whole matter… I prepared two possible options for you.”

“And those are…?”

Indeed, Rhaegar _had_ prepared options for him. The Dornish were in all their right to ask for something like that after all, their position had weakened considerably through the years, at least in the matters of the realm. If they were to maintain the peace with Dorne, they needed to offer them a deal, a deal that would keep them in the line but that at the same time could integrate them to the rest of Westeros. 

“Master of Coin. Or Master of Ships. Tis’ up to you, Prince Oberyn” Rhaegar offered, thanking the Gods that the request from the Martells came in a good time, when there were vacancies at the Small Council. 

“Master of Ships it is” Oberyn Martell grinned “I’m glad you recognize that Dorne _has_ to have a position in your table, and the importance of it, Your Highness” the dornish Prince claimed.

“I believe without Dorne, we would not be the Seven Kingdoms. Would we?” Rhaegar acknowledged, giving the dornish the importance they longed so much, and that they also deserved as piece of the realm.

“Cheers” Oberyn Martell lifted his goblet, a satisfied grin on his lips.

And suddenly, the deal with House Martell was resolved. Easy, and quick. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“She is…” Elia tried to find the correct combination of words, failing miserably for a few seconds. How could she describe her anyway?

_Lyanna Stark._

“Beautiful” Oberyn hurried, his trade smirk on his face before he took a sip of wine, his eyes still following her cautiously through the room as she walked.

“No.” she frowned “Insipid.” Elia snorted, throwing a death stare to her brother from the other corner of the room, her thin arms crossed upon her chest in annoyance “Almost a child.” she said mockingly, recalling ‘Princess Lyanna’s’ big eyes and full lips and her pale skin that seemed to be as frozen as the place she came from. “He probably doesn’t even like her”

 _Why would he like her?_ The moment she arrived, she felt almost incapable of taking her eyes off of the new ‘Targaryen Princess’, as she called her earlier. It was a shame, a joke of the destiny. The most handsome man she ever met ended up marrying a pale _girl_ , an unexperienced one. She was a woman, she could tell that the girl knew absolutely nothing.

“Ahhh, envy does not suit you well, sister” her brother chuckled with teasing eyes from his seat across the room, and Oberyn’s smile never felt so annoying to her like it did in that moment. “Me? Envious of that _girl_? Don’t make me laugh” she snorted again, sliding her tongue upon her teeth while grinning. 

She was not envious. No. She could not be. She was rather consternated, shocked. Yes, that was it. 

“You’re the one who’s making me laugh” he pointed out to Elia’s nuisance, the mockery was painfully obvious in his face “Is my sister jealous because she couldn’t make it into the Prince’s bed back in Harrenhal?” he laughed musically.

The thought of Harrenhal only hurt her pride even more. She had not only been rejected in that opportunity, but also ignored. The Prince never even took the time to respond to her evident invitations.  

“No” she denied, looking in another direction, feeling her brows frowning deep down once again that night. “Is just frustrating, a… _Child_ , has such a handsome man all to herself. What a waste.” she lamented.

Indeed, a waste it was. She highly doubted an inexperienced girl like her would be able to please anyone. He deserved more, someone experimented enough to please him. And how she wanted to please him since Harrenhal. It was a treat that _girl_ had taken from her. 

Elia felt slightly ridiculous holding such negative feelings towards a girl she had just met, a girl that had no fault, but those feelings were as unstoppable as they were involuntary. She sighed deeply, slightly ashamed of her incoherence. It wasn’t like she could help it anyway.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, sweet sister. She looks young, beautiful, _and_ _very_ _fuckable_.” Oberyn’s eyes gleamed with mischievousness, like they always did when speaking of a beautiful woman. His flatteries to Lyanna Stark were certainly not helping to ease those negative feelings inside her “If I were him, I would not complain at all, I would just fuck her and…”

“Oh, shut up.” The idea seemed horrendous to her, she couldn't even begin to imagine what a dull lover that cold blooded girl would be. She looked so… So cold. And distant. _What am i even thinking?_ “Nobody wants to hear you rambling about your perversions. And haven’t you heard? She is everything _but_ fuckable.”

At that, Oberyn lifted an eyebrow high in his forehead, putting his goblet aside for a second. “And where does my sister gets her information from?” he questioned mindfully.

“I saw Ashara earlier when you were reunited with Prince Rhaegar, she was with a bunch of court ladies when I went to meet her… All I had to do was ask about the ‘royal marriage’, and they started talking like parrots. I would have gotten more if it wasn't for Ashara’s sudden sense of discretion” she rolled her eyes in annoyance, walking to the bed and throwing herself into the soft pillows.

“Well, that’s sad” after several seconds, Oberyn took his goblet once a again, taking a sip of his wine with eyes on his sister “What a waste, indeed. She’s such a beauty” she heard him say. “Maybe Rhaegar is just too lazy” he mumbled.

“Well, maybe I can help him” a smirk played across her face when some vague thoughts hovered around her mind. 

For as long as she could remember, she always had a crush on the Targaryen Prince. As a teenager, she was too shy, too introverted, all because of that frail health of hers that according to her old self: ‘Made her ugly’. But not anymore.

She wasn’t that sickly girl anymore, she was a woman now, and she learned with the years. She learned that if she didn’t love herself, nobody would. She learned that if she wanted something, she had to go for it, instead of staying there, quiet in a corner. And she also learned, that she was far from ugly, and that it came easy to her get to what she wanted.

So, what was standing between her and her wishes? A girl. A mere, northern girl. _His_ wife.

How funny it sounded in her mind.

She had always rejected any propositions, after all, she was the daughter of the sun, a Princess of Dorne, she could not take just anyone as a mate for life. And the one time she thought she would say ‘yes’ to a betrothal in a heartbeat, back to when she was just three-and-ten, was the only time the proposal never occurred, to her, and her mother’s disappointment. Maybe she lost the chance to have that absurdly handsome man as a husband, because of Dorne’s poor relationships with the Crown, because of King Aerys’ stubbornness when he refused effusively to betroth his heir to a Martell, -Gods, she could still recall the look on her mother’s face when she received the letter from Rhaella Targaryen herself-, but… At least she could still have a taste of him. Couldn’t she? 

“Oh, will you give him a _hand_?” Oberyn teased, his mischievous smile growing wide in amusement as he poured himself more wine. 

“Maybe more than just a hand” she responded playfully, a chuckle abandoned her lips then. Would she be bold enough? 

_Of course you are. You are a Martell. You are a dornishwoman._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got bored at a friend's reunion and took my iPad out and well... This is the result. (It is incredibly uncomfortable to write on a tablet by the way, first and last time I'm doing it)
> 
> Let me know what you think... 
> 
> Happy Thursday you all... Lots of love.


	26. Sweet Dreams And Good Morning

He took his tunic off, his boots lied in a forgotten corner of the room as he walked towards his bed, ready to sink his heavy body into the mattress and get some rest. But the moment his body touched the bed, the moment a knock on his doors thundered across the room to his annoyance.

Sitting lazily on the bed, he sighed, irritated. _Seven hells._ He could only pray that it was not Maester Pycelle and one of his random concerns in the middle of the night. It would not be the first time. “Come in” he dragged his iron voice out of his mouth reluctantly. 

When the doors opened with a cracking sound, instead of the fragile and hunchbacked figure of Maester Pycelle, it was Lyanna’s shapely and delicate one. 

His shoulders relaxed when he saw her, in a grey gown and with her soft, dark waves falling down upon her chest. She looked beautiful, surreal, even ethereal with that delicate air she had that night. 

When she first landed her eyes on him, she seemed a little  taken aback by his semi-nudity, and the blush that followed only made her look even lovelier. Aware of her apparent discomfort, he reached for his tunic, but when he touched it, she stopped him. “Don’t” she mumbled, her pinkish lips slightly curved up in a shy smile, and her eyes gleaming in tenderness, softly upon him. “I can leave if you’re going to bed” she timidly said.

“No” he hurried, the tunic pooling on the floor again “Stay” Rhaegar got up, stepping closer to her, pushing his messy hair back. 

“I know you have to wake up early, I’m sorry” she blushed again, her big eyes looking up at him and her defined brows arching down in a concerned grimace. “Is everything okay?” he asked, cupping her face gently with his hand, shortening their distance enough for him to see even the smallest freckle on her porcelain skin. 

Lyanna looked down and placed her hand upon his, her touch was warm and soft and slow. “I couldn’t sleep” she admitted, batting her long, dark lashes a few times.

He could not help but to wonder: What was afflicting her? 

Rhaegar pushed a lock of nut-brown hair behind her ear, clearing the strands off of her beautiful orbs “Come” he guided her to the bed, grabbing her hand in his. He sat at the bed, his back against the headboard, his legs bended and ankles crossed, sitting in front of her. “What is it that keeps you awake?” he asked, watching her expression mindfully as she sat in front of him.

Lyanna took a deep breath “I miss father” she murmured, her eyes fixed on their clasped hands in fondness “And I’m worried about Brandon too” she finally let out.

She looked so small, so fragile as he never saw her before. He thought the afflicting expression that her lovely face carried did not suit her. No. Smiles suited her better, much better.

“Your brother… He’s fine, he knows how to take care of himself, you know?” he said, aware that he didn’t know much about Brandon Stark, except that he was a skilled warrior, and a strong one. _But even strong men can fall._ “There’s no reason for him to be in danger.” he hoped.

“I know. But still… I’m worried that he made a mistake” her eyes ghosted outside, to the dark vault of stars that was King’s Landing’s night sky above them. 

“Tell me something” he requested, and she looked at him curiously, inviting him to ask “Do you think he would’ve been happy if he stayed?” 

By the startled look on her face, the question took her by surprise. She blinked a few times before stuttering clumsily, trying to formulate an answer for him.  “I-I… I guess not.” she hesitated “No.” she said firmly then “I know it. He would have been miserable. He never wanted a lordship. He never wanted to be the Warden of the North.” she acknowledged with security “He never wanted any of that” Lyanna mentioned calmly, a hint of melancholy staining her sweet voice as she spoke about her wild wolf.

“Then, he made the right choice. Not in the best timing or in the best way though. He could’ve… Done things differently.” Rhaegar lowered his sight, trying to find a better way to resign to the duty than Brandon Stark’s. He knew what having a duty felt like. He, better than anyone. But he didn’t hate it. He knew he was born for it. But some men, like Brandon, they weren’t.

“I suppose you’re right” she smiled lightly, biting her lower lip “I always thought I would be the one to shame father, you know?” she chuckled melodiously, as if she was mocking herself.

“And why didn’t you?” Rhaegar asked, amused, aware of what she was thinking, stretching his memories to when she still looked at him with wariness and disdain, and when he didn’t even know what to think of the wild daughter of Winterfell that seemed to despise him intensely. “I don’t know” she smiled fondly, her sight went from their clasped hands to his face, steely hazel collided against dark indigo “But I’m glad I didn’t” she murmured, her fingers suddenly tracing his lips, soft and tenuous as a feather.  _I’m glad too._

Rhaegar leaned forward, and so did Lyanna, his eyes never leaving hers. He pressed his lips against hers and she welcomed him, soft and tender, his hands cupping her face gently as his lips moved against hers in a slow dance. “Can I stay with you tonight?” her eyes shyly gleamed, her sight upon his mouth, as her warm breath brushed his lips with every word. “You shouldn’t even ask” he smiled, depositing another warm kiss upon her full lips.

“Then, let me go back to my chambers and change clothes” she grinned, looking down at the tight gown she was wearing. It would be impossible to sleep in one of those silky, tight traps women wore, he recognized, at least for him. But he didn’t want her to go anywhere anymore, he wanted here there, with him. “You can wear something mine if you don't mind” he suggested.

Lyanna pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes as if she was thinking about it, only to shrug moments later and get up to her feet, to his satisfaction. 

Her fingers began to work upon the laces on the front of her dress, and he could only admire her in silence and expectancy, he was marveled. She looked glorious, her steely eyes upon him with a spark of excitement dancing lively in them as she unlaced her dress slowly. Gods, he could’ve just pull her close and put his arms around her and kiss her hard and never let her go. “Turn around, you pervert” she laughed, her shoulders were bare, her creamy skin glowing with the light of the candles beautifully, and she, she was holding the now loose dress to her chest with a hand so it wouldn’t fall to her feet and leave her exposed. 

“Fine, fine” he said with a grin and turned, marveled, thinking of how beautiful she would probably be under those silks. “No peeking” she warned him when he turned his head slightly in a jesting manner. 

He heard the sound of the fabric of her gown hitting the floor, and he did not make a single move to ‘peek’ as she said before. The single thought of having her _thus_ so near him was enough to warm his soul and to make his blood run a little bit faster. 

He recalled the night he had ordered her gruffly to take her dress off out of impatience and wrath, a few moon turns ago. But he could not remember any single detail of her body. He was so concerned, so _concentrated_ on what he was doing -lying to his father and defying his orders-, and he certainly knew how it would make her feel if he stared. In that moment, the last thing crossing his mind was to admire his wife’s naked body. Who would’ve thought that moon turns after that, she’d be there, in his bedchamber, asking him to spend the night with him, confident enough to undress near him.

And who would’ve thought that such a small action would make him feel so many things.

“You can look now” she murmured, breaking the silence, and he turned. 

The size of his tunic seemed ridiculously big for her, reaching past her white thighs, but still leaving her toned, creamy legs exposed. Her dark waves fell graciously to her waist, almost reaching her hips, and the sound of her laugh when she sticked her tongue out playfully made him smile widely. 

She crawled on the bed, positioning herself next to him under his delighted sight. Gods, she was beautiful. 

He blew the candles next to him, leaving the room in a faint darkness that was mostly appeased thanks to the weak shine of the bright moon up in the night sky, illuminating everything with its silver light from above. He lied his head on the pillows then, and her lips found his in the middle of the darkness, her soft, wavy hair falling at his sides, her winter rose scent swaddling him sweetly as he enjoyed the warm, wet sensation her lips brought upon him, his hands placed firmly on her small waist. Was she even aware of what she was causing in him? Because his blood was flowing furiously through his veins, and she was leaving him breathless. 

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered against her lips, his hands running up and down her back. 

Even in the dark, he could see her gleaming eyes staring intensely into his, her lips parted, moist and full. “I love you” she trailed a small strand of voice out of her mouth. “I love you too” he instantly responded, wondering where did all of that security come from, but never doubting it.

Lyanna sighed heavily, and her head was suddenly resting on his bare chest, his arm pulling her closer to him as he imitated her and sighed as well, his heart still racing excitedly. His hands felt suddenly empty without her tiny waist between them.  

 “Are you comfortable?” he murmured, caressing her hair softly.

“Very” she said, putting a leg between his, her fingers tracing the defined lines of his chest slowly, exploring, sometimes staying briefly on the training scars he possessed. She deposited a small kiss on his skin while doing it, and it burned him lightly.

He aspired her hair’s scent, it was heaven, to feel the light weight of her head against his chest, to feel her warm skin, soft as silk, to hear her peaceful breathing in the middle of the night. He never felt so oddly excited before just by laying in a bed, and at the same time, so peaceful. _Curious thing._

Only minutes later, when her fingers stopped tracing lines upon his chest and her breathing became slower, he realized she fell asleep. 

He held his wife close, kissing the top of her head lightly before closing his eyes and surrender to the soft lullaby the sea’s waves sang for them from outside. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

When the hot, golden rays of the early sun that filtered through the windows kissed her skin fiery, she lazily opened her eyes, not surprised to find herself in a completely different room than hers, but rather happy about it. 

She turned her head to her left, expecting to find _his_ lean, golden body lying next to hers, but instead, she found messy sheets and a small piece of paper on the pillow, his flawless calligraphy imprinted on it. 

_‘Didn’t want to wake you up so early. I love you’_

Her heart skipped a beat, and the dark memory of the night before took over her mind, the kisses, his hands tight on her waist, their ragged, hungry breathing, and those three words she timidly recited to him from the bottom of her soul. _I love you._

She slid her hand through the sheets, as if for some kind of magic she could just make him appear right there, next to her in all his glory. But that never happened. 

Lyanna sinked her face on his pillow, aspiring the delicious honeyed-nut scent of him, replaying over and over again the exact same scene in her head.

Gods, she would give anything to make it happen again, to feel those lips that set her body ablaze the night before. She gulped heavily when she thought of what could’ve happened that night, of what she had desired hungrily but didn’t dare to do. It wasn’t her fault that the sudden realization of her love for him had struck her like an avalanche and paralyzed every single part of her. Was it?

But… Truth was, she _wanted_ him. Badly. And by the way he kissed her back and held her close and looked at her, as if he would just devour her with his devotion, she could tell he wanted her just as much as she did. 

She took air deeply in her lungs again, and anyone who saw her would think she would just undo herself in sighs. But her heart fluttered in excitement, and the anxiety only consumed her even more when she thought of where she was and what she was wearing. _Gods._ Never before in her entire life she had felt that way towards any man. And she certainly never thought she would. 

If she could only lay there all day, waiting for him to come back… But as every good dream, hers had to end.

She had agreed with Princess Elia to have a small reunion in the morrow with her and Lady Ashara. _Crap._

Lyanna took Rhaegar’s tunic off, and with the help of a handmaiden, she ended up wrapped up in a beautiful, dark blue gown that made her skin look even whiter, with her hair properly fixed and one of those _expensive_ and _unnecessary_ necklaces around her neck. So much for a breakfast meeting. _So much for formalities._

When she walked to the door and opened it, ready to leave, Ser Arthur greeted her with a friendly smile, and she could feel her cheeks getting a little bit warmer in embarrassment. 

It was only natural that a wife would spend the night in her husband’s chambers. But she was still stupid enough to blush over that. _Idiot._

“Good morning, Princess” Arthur greeted her, and she smiled back timidly “Lyanna” she snorted playfully. At least he began to call her Lyanna whenever she was training with her bow. But never in front of others. “Good morning, Arthur.” 

“You won’t practice today?” the knight asked her, and as much as she wanted to say yes, she denied with her head “I can’t. I will spend the morning with Princess Elia and your sister” she commented “Maybe in the afternoon, if nothing comes up” she smiled. It wasn’t like she had much to do anyway, besides wandering around the Red Keep like a ghost searching for some fun to ease her boredom.

When she got there, the two dornishwomen were already waiting for her, and she suddenly felt like an outcast in the middle of those two copper colored women. It was like seeing the whitest snow and the brownest sand together. It didn’t made any sense.

“Princess” Ashara gave her a warm smile that she returned instantly, the Dayne Lady pointing out to a seat next to her. “I hope I’m not too late” Lyanna said with an apologetic tone, she  _almost_ didn't wake up that morning. She didn't even wanted to.

“Of course not.” Elia offered kindly, her almond shaped, dark eyes lingering on her for a moment. “We just arrived”

“Besides, tis’ a long walk from Maegor’s Holdfast” Ashara added, grabbing a lemon cake with her long fingers.

“It is” Lyanna recognized as she sat down and the servants began to serve tea and a great variety of sweets. 

“We were just talking about my brother” Elia grinned, her dark eyes looping into hers “He’s staying in King’s Landing. Prince Rhaegar has offered him a position in the small council.” the dornish Princess said proudly, a satisfied expression all over her attractive face.

“Really?” Lyanna parted her lips, finding herself absolutely ignorant of the Small Council’s situation or Rhaegar’s moves in court. She felt suddenly lost in the conversation, as if she  _should_ be aware of such matters, but she wasn't. 

“I thought you knew” Elia looked slightly confused, bating her lashes a few times, her lips parted.

“No, I was not aware." Lyanna murmured, but quickly changed the subject "Will you stay with him then, Princess Elia?” 

“Oh, no. I’m a dornish Princess, my place is at Dorne, of course. But mayhap I can stay for a little longer than planned” Elia waved her hand carelessly, throwing a quick look at Ashara “You know, to keep my brother company” 

Ashara simply lifted a brow, what Lyanna perceived seemed like a forced smiled formed upon her lovely, pinkish lips. Shouldn't she be thrilled to have her childhood friend near? “I suppose kin company always helps. I would know” Lyanna offered when Ashara Dayne remained silent on the matter, and she remembered her first weeks there like a quick flashback that inevitably came to her.

“I know. I only want to help my brother.” the dornish Princess crossed her legs, her copper skin shining with the jasmine oil she could perfectly smell spread on her skin. As if her beautiful copper tone was not appealing enough, the woman had to just make it even more beautiful. “I suppose it must be lonely here for an outsider” she heard Elia's sentence all of the sudden, and reminded herself that she was still there.

If only she knew. But Oberyn Martell didn’t seem to be shy, on the contrary, the man would meander around as if he was the owner of the place, smirking at every living being and speaking freely. “I believe your brother will enjoy the capital, Princess” was all she could say.

“As long as there are brothels and dornish wine, he will be fine” Elia chuckled, and Ashara laughed as well. At least she was frank about it. 

“Did you have a hard time getting used to King’s Landing, Princess Lyanna?” the dornishwoman suddenly asked.

“I did” she admitted “But everyone here was exceptionally nice to me” _Except for Aerys._ “The royal family has taken me in warmly” she politely smiled, sweeping the thoughts of the Mad King out of her head. 

“I suppose you must be enchanted with your marriage” Elia Martell grinned as she held a lemon cake between her slender fingers “The Prince is a charming man. He surely is a wonderful husband” she took a bite then.

“He is. His Highness adores Princess Lyanna” Ashara Dayne’s voice was soft and sweet and quickly replied to Elia's assumptions, but her glare became sharp towards the dornish Princess. Or at least Lyanna thought she perceived that. Perhaps she was already hallucinating. 

“How could he not?” Elia’s smile was intoxicatingly sweet, her white teeth showing off in a wide smile. Just like the one she gave her when she met her. “You are _such a_ beautiful woman” she admired "And a very lucky one" 

With a feeling of wariness in the back of her mind, Lyanna could only ask to herself: _Why do I keep feeling this way?_

 

"Indeed, she is" Ashara replied "And he is too" 

Ashara threw a quick glance at Lyanna, and she smiled in gratitude for the sweet words the lady had decided to speak. If anything, she could only feel flattered, maybe even more flattered than she deserved by the Lady Dayne. 

Elia chuckled, her chin rested on her palm and her sight meandered to Lyanna "I hope I get as lucky as Princess Lyanna" she sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a trip, so it will take longer for me to update. Have a nice week guys!


	27. Eyes That See, Heart That Feels

He pushed his almost silver hair back, a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead as the result of the physical activity. He rested his valyrian steel sword on his hip, a hand on the pommel. “So did the King agree?” Ser Gerold asked, throwing his sword to the ground after the fight was over. 

“Reluctantly. But yes” Rhaegar replied “I informed him of the situation before the Martells arrived. He knew already” he added.

Rhaegar sat on the dais, and so did Ser Gerold next to him, both men tired from fighting. “He doesn’t like the dornish, but he agreed. At least there’s still a little sense in him” Rhaegar lamented, thinking of how lucky he was to catch his father in a good mood the day he spoke to him about offering a position in the Small Council to Oberyn Martell. 

“I don’t believe His Grace will have many encounters with The Red Viper anyway. He never attends the Small Council’s meetings” Ser Gerold sighed, wiping the small drops of sweat rolling down his forehead with his forearm. 

“Thank the Gods” the Prince said, aware that the missing presence of his father on those meetings made everything much less complicated. Having to deal with him was already hard, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have him screaming and cackling in the Small Council’s meetings as well. 

“Are the dornish trustworthy, my Prince?” Gerold questioned, staring at him with eyebrows up high in his forehead. Trustworthy? He didn’t know. “We shall see, Gerold” he answered quickly.

Inviting Oberyn Martell to King’s Landing was only expected of him, was what he was supposed to do after all, Dorne was part of The Seven Kingdoms. But like so many other houses, the Martells wanted power, and that was alright, as long as they didn’t go too far to get it. Until that moment, everything was alright, at least. 

“Oberyn Martell seems like a reasonable man. But in times like these, with the realm’s instability, even a sane man could try and take advantage” Rhaegar acknowledged, aware that, even if the dornish Prince seemed like a smart man, ambition often misted inside the souls of those who were given some power. 

“Ahh, you’re right Your Highness” Ser Gerold agreed “Let’s hope for the best”

Rhaegar nodded, his breathing was finally steady, but he could still feel the small sweat drops rolling down on his skin.

“We should call Dayne to train with us” the knight suddenly suggested, grabbing his sword and looking at it with indifference “Last time we trained together, that bastard beat me” he said jestingly. 

“We have all been defeated before by Dawn” Rhaegar laughed. His friend Arthur, indeed, was the best swordsman he had ever seen. “But my wife has developed certain preference towards him. He’s probably guarding her now” 

And he could perfectly understand why Lyanna grew so fond of the knight. Arthur was his best and oldest friend, and the damn man knew how to endear himself to others. There was nobody as loyal and brave as the Sword of the Morning, that he knew. He couldn’t picture anyone better to take care of his beloved wife. 

“My Prince” the knight sitting besides him addressed him all of the sudden, drawing his attention “I believe we have company” the man murmured low, and Rhaegar followed his sight. 

The slim silhouette of Elia Martell was approaching them, with a slight grin upon her lips and her dark eyes fixed on them. Recalling the tourney of Harrenhal, Rhaegar could only ask to the Gods that woman didn’t approach him like that last time. It made him feel uncomfortable. 

“Prince Rhaegar, Ser” the woman directed a lovely smile at them, and they returned the gesture. 

“Princess Elia. Apologies for our unkempt appearance. We were just training” the Dragon Prince commented, not really a bit worried in his mind about the sweat that soaked him.  

The dornish Princess chuckled, and one of her straight, black locks of hair fell upon her face “Even covered in sweat, you look very handsome, my Prince” 

Rhaegar resisted the urge to lift a brow at the flattery, and didn’t even turn to exchange looks with Gerold, knowing that the knight probably had the same intriguing look on his face like the one he suspected he had. 

Maybe he was too paranoid, or maybe he was taking the Princess’ flatteries too seriously, but it all reminded him of one single moment: The Tourney of Harrenhal and her bold approach. 

But maybe his mind was only magnifying those events that had taken place so long ago. 

“I came here to ask you a favor” Elia said, touching his arm with a hand and smiling while doing it. 

“How can I help you, Princess?” he asked.

“I wanted to ask if you could lend me your solar for a moment. I need to write a letter to my brother, Doran” 

Rhaegar suppressed what would’ve been a rude sigh. Was she jesting with him? Or was it that she couldn’t say what she truly wanted in front of Ser Gerold? Why couldn’t she just write the damned letter elsewhere? Such a ridiculous petition surely had something hidden behind, something that, apparently, the dornish Princess could not say in front of others. And maybe he was not being so paranoid after all.

“Sure, I can… Lend you the place” he said with well concealed reluctancy, for the sake of politeness. 

Immediately, the Princess surrounded one of his arms with hers, smiling from ear to ear like a capricious child that had just gotten her way. 

Leaving the startled Ser Gerold behind, with a confused expression on his face, both of them began to walk towards Rhaegar’s solar. 

Rhaegar could only wonder what in the seven hells did she want. Couldn’t she at least have invented a less ridiculous excuse? _This better be good._ Once again, he suppressed a sigh, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable with the lady’s closeness. 

When they arrived, outside of his solar, he stopped, and she turned to face him. “Shall we enter?” she eagerly asked, licking her lips slowly. 

And like a wave, it came to him. “You don’t really need my solar, do you?” he finally let out, trying his best not to let his annoyance show and sound as polite as he possibly could. 

At his question, the dornish Princess smirked, and her eyes lit up with the intensity of the dornish sun. “I knew it” she purred, and boldly took him by the sleeve of his tunic inside the solar. 

“Wha-…?” Rhaegar frowned, and he felt the irritation growing inside as he felt himself being pulled inside the room by Elia. What in the seven hells could she want? 

Once in the stance, she sat upon his desk, and he could only lift an eyebrow to such a boldness from her. _What the fuck?_  

“May you please, explain to me Princess, what are you talking about?” he almost snorted. 

Elia only smirked, the position of her back seemed too curved to be natural, as if she was purposefully trying to show her best attributes. 

“You know that I don’t mind, don’t you?” she grinned, pushing the straight locks of black hair that fell down her shoulders back. 

Hesitantly, not sure of what to say -not even sure he understood what she was talking about- he only forced himself to ask “Could you please be clear? I don’t think I’m following.” 

“In Dorne, we don’t judge. And this is not looked upon as something bad” she explained shortly. What was she thinking?

She chuckled again, and that only added another grain of sand to an already tall mountain of annoyance. “About your current status, I don’t mind. I’m donrish, we don’t care about that… We have…” she paused for a couple of seconds, pouting her lips “Certain freedom that is not seen illy”

Somehow, he already suspected where that was going, and even if something deep inside told him he was right, he could only hope he was wrong. That woman was about to put them both in a very, _very_ embarrassing situation. One he did not want to go through, and was completely unnecessary. 

“I believe you-…” he tried to stop that ridiculous situation developing in front of him, acting calm and collected. But Elia only denied with her head, the smirk never leaving her face “What I mean is that…” she got up to her feet, and walked slowly towards him, her dark eyes shining in what he identified was lust “I don’t mind that you have a wife. I don’t want her title. We can do this and nobody needs to know” 

His first reaction, was to stay frozen in his place. That woman had lost her mind. He knew the dornish reputation, but that was ridiculous. 

For those brief seconds, he even thought he was dreaming, but no. It was no dream, Elia Martell was in front of him offering herself as a mistress. 

He tried to recall any moment, any exchange of words, _anything_ that could’ve made her believe that he was interested in having a mistress, or having _her_ as one for that matter, but nothing came to his mind. His first impulse was to tell her how wrong she was, how mistaken her thoughts were and how he did not feel even the slightest attraction towards her, but he stopped himself, trying to find the correct words to reject her as politely as he could. 

Seconds stretched out, and so did the awkwardness and confusion in him. 

But apparently, the dornish Princess misunderstood his silence, and took it as the opposite to what it really was. 

The woman smirked, and with her fingers, she slid the upper part of her dress down her shoulders and to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed in front of him.

Rhaegar quickly averted his gaze, and this time, he did not suppress the sigh that left his lips. The Princess’ methods of seduction were _too_ much for him. Feeling like the situation was becoming unbearable, he pressed his fingers at the sides of his temple. “I believe you misunderstand me, Princess Elia” his voice was iron, and so was his will to keep his eyes away from her semi-naked figure “’Tis not my wish to dishonor my wife with you. Or with any other woman, to be exact.” after he finished, he made eye contact with her, straight and cold. 

All he could truly see, was the shock in her, the sudden embarrassment and the hurt pride. Yet, with her lips parted and a look of disbelief on her face, she did not move a single inch, maybe in surprise, maybe in indignation, he did not know. And he certainly did not care.

But none of it mattered anymore, after the door slammed open and when he turned, all he saw were steely eyes that seemed to want to burn him alive with hatred hottest than the wildfire his father so often played with. 

“Lyanna”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

When the content of the letter with the direwolf seal in it was displayed in front of her, it wasn’t exactly the kind of news she was expecting. At all. Because she expected everything, news from Brandon, or no news at all, even a loving letter from her father, anything, except for a new betrothal announcement and a wedding invitation, all at once. Because she had expected anything, but not the invitation to the wedding of her beloved Ned and Catelyn Tully. 

Her father had found a solution to his dilemma after all, and he decided to wed Ned to the Tully girl. The letter also announced Ned as his heir, which meant Brandon had lost any right to be the Warden of the North. 

Somehow, it felt right, it felt _fitting_. If there was anyone who had the perfect temper to be the Lord of Winterfell, that was Eddard Stark. And they all knew, she knew, her father knew, Brandon knew, and probably even little Benjen. 

Even if the letter did not contain what she wanted to read -news of the missing Brandon, of course- , she still felt joy to know that in the end, her father was able to fix all the mess her oldest brother left behind.  Probably lady Catelyn was confused, it wasn’t like exchanging a pet for another after all. But if Lyanna was correct in what she was thinking, it would be better for the Tully girl. Somehow, Ned seemed to fit her much more than Brandon ever would. 

Because in the end, Brandon was never meant to be married. Never.

With the paper on her hands, she found Ser Gerold on the training yard, where she thought she might find Rhaegar to tell him the news and about the invitation they had received. But she only found the Kingsguard. 

“Princess Lyanna” The man greeted her with a polite smile.

By the way the man was grabbing his belongings, she caught him about to leave. “Ser Gerold” she smiled back, and her eyes looked around for her husband. 

“Is uhmm… Rhaegar around?” she clumsily asked, waiting eagerly for an answer.

The knight looked slightly confused for a second “Ah, yes, Princess. Princess Elia came here just moments ago, she needed the Prince’s solar” 

 _His solar? What for?_ She probably had something to speak to him about.  

“Thank you, Ser Gerold” she smiled, and left the knight behind.

Lyanna directed herself to his solar, maybe he had finished talking to Princess Elia, maybe not, she would try anyway, since some kind of strange mix of joy and anxiety was eating her up from inside.

When she reached Rhaegar’s solar, she found the door slightly open, and she approached silently to see if there was still anybody inside, she didn't want to interrupt anything. But the sight left her without air. 

Looking through the opening between the doors, she felt her heart falling down to the ground and to the very seven hells when the image of a semi-naked Elia Martell standing in front of _her_ fucking husband stormed her senses.

For a moment, a storm passed through her entire body and soul, messing everything up. She felt her heart racing fast, _too fast_ , and her body froze momentarily, unable to make any move her brain commanded. 

And even if everything seemed to be blurry, no words were needed, the view was obvious enough. 

She knew men, she knew only a few were like Ned, or even like her father. And somehow, she had expected her entire life for her marriage to be thus, with a horny _pig_ as a husband. Or at least she expected that when Baratheon asked for her hand and her father was going to accept. 

So, if she knew how things were, how things worked in that rotten world, then why did her heart beat so fast that it broke itself into a thousand pieces? Why did she expect from _him_ what she knew she could never expect from any man? Why did she think he was different after all? 

She thought of leaving, and never, _ever_ let him touch a single hair of hers again, without saying a single word, without any explanation, he surely would not need one. But no, that was not what her wolf-blood told her to do.

She slammed the door open, and she could see an embarrassed Princess Elia that quickly covered herself with her arms, and a shocked Rhaegar that turned his mystic indigo orbs to her. That shameless scumbag didn’t even looked ashamed for what he was doing. 

She felt fire in her throat, as if she could just begin to scream and scream and scream at them for what they were doing, but she knew that, if she dared to pluck a single sound from her throat, she would eventually break. And suddenly, her wolf-blood’s impulse felt useless, and her strength did not stay with her as she had expected. The tears that began to flood her sight were a good reminder of that. 

Looking straight into her husband’s indigo eyes, she only wished he could feel the hate she felt towards him, how she despised him and how she regretted to have ever put her trust in him like she did. 

But the scoundrel idiot only seemed surprised to see her there, and even more when her name abandoned his lips as if he was seeing a fucking ghost. “Lyanna” he had called her, with that rich voice of his that to her, in that moment, sounded like a devil’s song that mocked her. 

Without another word, and feeling the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks, she just turned around in a hurried pace, with her shattered heart about to pierce her chest and feeling like the air she was breathing was heavy on her lungs. She would not give him the satisfaction to see her like that. No man would ever humiliate her like that, he would not be the first.

“Lyanna!” she heard him shout behind her, and she hurried her pace, feeling those annoying tears already rolling down her hot cheeks. The last thing she wanted to see was his face, his _fucking_ face. Ever again. “Lyanna, wait!” she heard him close, and felt his hand on her elbow, holding her still and stopping her pace. 

Despite the tears she knew were already soaking her cheeks, she fiercely turned around to face him, to stare into those damned eyes that once were to her the most beautiful sight in the whole world. “Let me go” she dangerously murmured as she could, trying her best not to break in front of him, and feeling like she could just slap him at any moment, or even better, feeling like she could just rip his face off with her claws. If only she had claws. 

“No. Listen to me first” he insisted, furrowing deeply in front of her with concern. Just how good was he at pretending?  

“Let me go, or I swear to the Old Gods I will scream so loud that it will be heard across the realm. _I hate you_ ” she spat hatefully, and she could see his _pretended_ confusion all over his face. It made her sick, that he could just lie so flawlessly, like everything else he did.

How did she not see that coming? He was good at everything he did. Why wouldn’t he be good at lying too? 

“Let me explain this to you” he almost begged, and when his other hand tried to reach her cheek, she sent him a glare that could probably pierce his skull, because after that, he lowered his hand “This is _not_ what you think” he firmly claimed, his voice was iron, and his eyes, those fucking indigo eyes bore into hers. 

Mercilessly, feeling his grab on her, and losing her patience, she lifted a hand and slapped him across the face as hard as her strength allowed, the sound pierced through the hallways, loud and dry and ireful. Because when she decided he would never touch her again, she was serious. 

His grip on her vanished, his cheek was burning red, and his expression was one of incredulity. What was he expecting? A peck on the lips for approval? 

“Don’t you dare come near me again” she warned him before leaving him as fast as her legs allowed her to run, and his voice calling insistently for her was nothing to her anymore, only noise in the background. 

Only minutes later, when she locked herself up in her chambers, ignoring Ser Arthur’s concerned gaze upon her, and any question he had for her when he saw her like that at the entrance of her chambers, she realized she still held the letter in her hand, crumpled and messed, and only let it fall to the floor. 

“Princess Lyanna!” she could hear Arthur’s voice behind her doors “Are you alright? Is everything okay?” the concern was evident in the man’s voice, but all she wanted to do was to throw something at the door to make him shut up.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, more tears sprouting violently from her already puffy eyes, and a suffocating, burning feeling was rising up in her throat. “Leave me alone for once!” she yelled, and her voice finally broke in sobs.

She threw herself on her bed, listening to that deafening silence that was only filled by her suffocated sobs against a pillow, feeling mad with hate. Hate towards _him,_ hate towards Elia Martell, but most of all, hate towards herself.

She had allowed him to get near her, too near when she knew she shouldn’t, and she got what she deserved for letting her ice walls melt because of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me.


	28. Dark Waters

 

Never before, the sight of so many noble ladies and knights perambulating in those gardens had annoyed him so much. But maybe it wasn’t their presence, but rather _her_ absence. Because in that sea of colorful silks and gallant doublets, he couldn’t find her slim, pale figure and her big, beautiful eyes that lit up whenever she laughed and that separated her from the blurry crowd.

But two days had passed, and nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. Only deafening silence surrounding the matter.

Now sitting there, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table in front of him, that place had never seem so irritating to him. 

If only she wasn’t so _fucking_ stubborn… But then again, how could he blame her for what she saw? It was only fair. And all of that had him wondering: When did she become so important to him?

He couldn’t say. Because Lyanna had just misted within his thoughts without him realizing, gradually, slowly and silent, even if she was loud and bright. 

The moment he saw her for the first time, he pitied her for what fate had prepared for her, and he swore that as soon as he could, he would release her from that forced marriage. But in the end, he only found himself wanting her near, he found himself struck by her very spirit, that lately had him feeling drunk in some sort of unexpected adoration. 

And now, he was just one step away from losing her. If he already didn't...

“Ser Jaime” he called the young lion that was just a few feet away from him, wrapped in a golden armor and with a white cloak hanging from his shoulders. The young boy’s emerald eyes widened the second he heard the Prince’s voice, taking him out of whatever deep thought he was drowning in, and the Lannister lion immediately approached him, proud and elegant in his walk, and more than willing to follow the Dragon Prince’s commands. “Your Highness” he offered, now standing next to him. 

Rhaegar looked up at the Lannister kingsguard from his seat. “Could you do me a favor?” 

“Of course, Your Highness” the knighted lion roared, content to be assigned a ‘mission’. He would probably end up disappointed, Rhaegar thought. 

“Could you please, go and look for Ser Arthur. Ask him to come here and meet me. And stay with the Princess while he’s here” he commanded. 

The Lannister lion nodded, and Rhaegar thanked him with a mid smile. Lyanna would probably hate him even more for calling Arthur, but he needed him. He needed Arthur, he needed to speak with him, not only to lighten that damned weight upon his shoulders, but also to ask him about _her_. 

She wouldn’t even receive him, no matter how many times he tried, the answer was the same. A denial coming from the lips of a shy, embarrassed servant. And the worst part, was that the image of her: her beautiful face soaked in tears and her eyes filled with pain and rejection towards him. That image kept ghosting within his head insistently. 

How he wanted to tell her everything, to tell her that everything was alright and that he would never hurt her like that. But she closed herself to him. 

And knowing Lyanna as he did, she would not give up easily. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful. In her head, _he_ betrayed her trust, _he_ humiliated her with another woman. 

How long until she gave him a chance to at least explain the whole mess? All he knew, was that he was starting to lose his patience, and he would end up doing it anyway, even if she closed those damned doors of her chambers on his face, even then, he would yell at her doors if he had to. 

As for Elia Martell, he could only thank the Gods that she avoided him like a plague, and that was fine, actually, more than fine. That was great, because it saved him from the awkwardness that would surely be in the atmosphere if they had to spend one single moment together again. Hopefully, she would pack and leave with what was left of her shattered pride. If it wasn’t for her folly…  _It does no good to speak of roads not taken._

After several minutes, Arthur appeared in front of him. The Dayne knight had a questioning look on his face, one that told him that he was unaware of everything that happened. At least the whole issue had not become a traveling, royal gossip. 

“Arthur” his name ghosted out of his mouth.

“My Prince” the man returned, his purple eyes resting on him with seriousness. 

“I need to talk to you” he said, inviting Arthur to sit in front of him.

Arthur made a grimace, one that indicated him that he already knew what he wanted to discuss: Lyanna. “About Princess Lyanna” he quickly pointed out, and Rhaegar nodded in agreement. The knight took a seat in front of him. “If I may dare to ask…” Arthur began, and Rhaegar rose his eyebrows up high. As if Arthur Dayne needed to ask for permission to talk to him about his personal matters. “What happened to her? She…” the knight suddenly frowned.

“She what?” Rhaegar asked, his eyes searching for any answer in those orbs that were so similar to his. 

“She stormed into her bedchambers two nights ago, she was a flood of tears. I have never seen her thus, My Prince” the man’s concerned expression accompanied every single one of his words. "She won't say a word about what happened to her that left her thus"

Rhaegar inhaled deeply, and mechanically pushed his hair back in a nervous reaction. How frustrating it was.

“I know” Rhaegar deadpanned, the feeling of guilt dripping through his mind, even if he knew he had no fault in what happened. Still, he couldn’t help but to feel awful. Not because of his actions, but because of how hurt _she_ probably was. 

Lyanna was proud, she was strong too, he knew. But he feared that her ice walls would rise once again, those walls that once kept him out for a long time until they finally found the way to melt them down. Until that _fucking_ day. “She _thinks_ something happened, between me and Elia Martell.” he denied with his head, the frustration bubbling down in his stomach as he spoke “But absolutely _nothing_ happened. That woman’s folly had cost me Lyanna's trust”  

The knight only limited himself to hear mindfully, his friend’s expecting, yet surprised gaze urged him to continue speaking. And so he did.

“Elia Martell, she…” he started, not even believing himself or the situation as he spoke. _Un-fucking-believable._ “She basically _offered_ herself as a mistress yesterday.” he made a sharp motion with his hand, wanting to laugh at the situation. How fucked up it was? “I rejected her, I did. But Lyanna won’t even listen to me, Arthur” he sighed. 

Arthur Dayne, in front of him, looked like somebody had taken his tongue away “Seven hells” the knight barely murmured, his eyes, just as Rhaegar had expected, had that bright glint of surprise that he could just expect in anyone listening that story. “I understand everything now.” he paused for a moment, as if calculating what his next words would be  “I know you, my friend. I know is not in you to behave thus” 

“You do. But _she_ can’t even bear to see me now”

“She can't even bear to see you because of what she _thinks_ you did. You should insist and talk to her”

Rhaegar laughed bitterly, a small sound that was just as sour as his smile. He tried, so many times in the last forty-eight hours. “Should I send her a raven? Because she won’t even let me get near her” 

Those steely, hazel gems stormed his mind once again, sending daggers straight through him. Everything that they went through, every step forward, was now undone. 

“She’s hurt. And she’s very, _very_ stubborn” Arthur observed. 

“Tell me about it” the Prince snorted, completely aware of the temper his northern wife proudly owned. 

But despite her rejection, and despite how angry she was at him, he would explain everything to her, even if he had to force her to listen. Whether she believed him or not, was completely another matter. But how could he prove his words to be true? 

Was he so fucking doomed?

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

She held the reins loosely, and let the horse take whatever course it wanted to take. She didn’t mind, she truly didn’t. 

The animal was much meeker than Blackfyre, his coat, a dark chestnut color that held a reddish spark in it, and its mane, black as onyx. One of the King’s finest horses, the stable boy had told her. But it lacked a name, so she decided to name him ‘Spinel’, as a homage to his shining, reddish chestnut coat. 

When she went to the stables, all she wanted to do was ride. Riding had always helped her to clear her mind, her soul… It always made her feel like she could just go wherever she wanted to go. 

Instead of saddling Blackfyre, she only stroked his nose fondly, and in the end, decided not to ride him, since his _owner_ might've just appear and… She just didn’t want to see _him,_  or cross any words with him _._ Instead, Lyanna saddled another horse, and named it 'Spinel'.

Now, looking at her side, Ser Jaime Lannister, the golden lion of Casterly Rock rode in silence next to her, his posture was elegant, with his chin up high just like his sister, and his golden locks shining brightly under the sun. His face was a monument to boredom, his emerald green eyes were looking at anything in particular, and only her Old Gods could know how much she wanted to ride alone and send him away. It wasn’t like he was the only one troubled there. To top it all, the sudden memory of the young knight and his sister in a murky situation kept flooding her mind with unwelcome images. 

At least it kept her distracted, to think of Ser Jaime and his sister, Lady Cersei. Yet, the thought did not fit within her head, maybe that was because she could just not imagine herself in such a situation with one of her brothers. _Ew._  

But who was she to judge? Targaryens had wed brothers and sisters for centuries and nobody dared speak a word against them. _Targaryens._ Maybe her fucking husband should’ve married a sister. If only he had one, which he didn’t. 

And there it was again, that stupid and uncomfortable feeling that kept making knots in her throat. _Fuck._

She quickly turned her gaze to the golden lion again, and his face hadn’t changed in the slightest. He looked like he could just yawn. Suddenly, feeling sorry for him, and thinking of how dull it had to be to follow her around, she decided to do something. “You can leave if you want to, Ser Jaime” she offered him, sympathizing with the poor young man, but not paying much attention to his reaction. At least not truly, since it wasn't the young lion's features the ones that flooded her mind, but her husband's sharp ones.

“The Prince ordered me to stay with you until Ser Arthur returned” the young boy replied dryly, and at the mention of Rhaegar, her breathing stopped for a second in discomfort.

She found that, even if nobody knew about what happened, she still felt ashamed. Too ashamed, too humiliated... Too hurt. 

Lyanna kept her gaze fixed straight forward, ignoring the small sore in her eyes when her mind reacted instantly at the mention of his _fucking_ name. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked a few times to calm herself down. When the image from the day before stormed in her thoughts, she felt her mouth dry and the air heavy on her lungs. 

 _What a stupid girl you are._ She resisted the urge to cry, because it was enough. She had cried her eyes out the night before, and the night before that, all for a _stupid_ man. A worthless one. She had cried, and that was enough. She didn't need to feel so vulnerable again, she truly didn’t like it. She would endure it, she was Lyanna Stark, and her soul was unbending steel and she would not let herself down. 

“You don’t like riding?” she found herself asking to the Lannister knight, trying to push Rhaegar away from her head and focusing on something else, _anything_ else.

At her question, the young knight seemed slightly taken aback. It was actually the first time she started a conversation with him. In fact, it was the first time she had ever spoken to him, and not just greeted him. “I do like to ride, my Princess” Jaime stoically replied, and apparently surprised by the question.

“I thought you were getting bored” she murmured. 

At Lyanna’s comment, the boy looked embarrassed for a fleeting second that lasted nothing, only to return to his smug, golden mask. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, Your Highness. I’m naturally quiet, that is all” 

Lyanna smiled as she could, looking at the young knight next to her. Even if he said so, his boredom was painfully obvious. She could not blame him, it was probably the most odious thing on earth to follow someone around and do exactly as they did just for the sake of duty. If she was in Ser Jaime's boots, how trapped would she feel? Even thought the idea of being a knight sounded adventurous and interesting, being a _Kingsguard_ , following that old, mad King around like a hound had to be detestable. 

She rambled on what it would be like to be a Kingsguard for a few moments, toying with the thought for a moment, until the sound of powerful hooves hitting the ground made her turn her head in the sound's direction.

In a white destrier, Ser Arthur Dayne came back after nearly an hour and a half of being away. 

Even if normally she loved having Arthur around, that time, she was not sure. If the Dayne knight had left before, it was on Rhaegar’s command, his best friend’s command. He probably knew about her then, about him, and about Elia. 

“Ser Jaime!” Arthur called, looking at her for a moment and then to the other man. The Lannister knight listened. “You can go back now” 

Ser Jaime nodded, a faint gleam of admiration on his emerald green eyes when they landed on Arthur Dayne did not escape her, like a child staring at his hero. He respectfully bowed to her, only to gallop away moments later, with his white cloak and his golden hair flaming behind him.

Arthur immediately positioned his destrier next to hers, and followed her pace, the beast snorting loudly under him after the race. “’Tis good to see you ride again, my Princess.”

_Does he know?_

“I felt desires to do it today” she simply replied, looking down at the reins in her hands.

“Are you feeling better?” the man asked, and just after she lifted her eyes up to him, she avoided his gaze quickly again. 

She felt a sour, forced smile curving her lips up. He probably did know. And how could he not, he was Rhaegar’s best friend, he had probably told him about his great, manly deed. _Ass._  

“I’m perfectly fine” she claimed, the lack of emotion in her voice was deadly, her gaze still avoiding his purposefully. 

The knight just kept quiet, and unspoken words filled the air, questions and answers. Words that maybe, could only hurt her even more if they were spoken. But she didn’t know what bothered her more, what was left unspoken, or the curiosity that was eating her on the inside. Curiosity of hearing what Arthur had to say after all. She knew he was an honorable man, she knew he was a good man that would usually not defend ill actions. But what happened when it came to his best friend, she wondered. 

Following her instincts, and aware that, eventually he would’ve brought the subject to the conversation anyway, she decided to give the first step, ready to take any arrow.

“You know. Don’t you? If you want to say something, just say it” she finally spat with anticipation, and he, somehow, looked relieved that she decided to bring the subject to the conversation. 

The knight’s curious eyes were upon her, noble and caring, and he only denied with his head with a sorrowful expression as if he was lamenting something. “Since you allow me to…” he began in his regal voice, looking straight to the path the horses were taking for a moment, only to face her again “I believe this is all a misunderstanding, you know”

At that, she turned her full attention to him, narrowing her eyes in his direction. If Arthur was trying to defend his friend, he would have to do better than that.  

“How so? I saw _it_ , Arthur.” she snorted, holding back the ‘Stop trying to cover him up’ that was stuck in her throat. 

Arthur frowned in disapproval “I’ve known him for years. If I have to put my hands on fire for him on this, I would.” brave and proud, he defended his Prince as she predicted. 

“Should I just ignore what I saw, then? Tell me, Arthurt, is that what you think I should do?” she arched an eyebrow, expecting the knight’s answer eagerly.  

“No.” he firmly said “I believe you should listen to what he’s got to say, not hide from him. That is all.” 

She averted her gaze.

When everything happened, she refused to hear his explanation. Because what was the point? She would not have a lie, she just would not have it. 

But Lyanna recognized deep within her, that if anybody told her he would be capable of doing such a thing, she would not believe it. Seeing it, on the other hand, was another matter.

“I’m not hiding” she cried.

The man gave her an incredulous look that left her with parted lips. “You can lie to me all you want, but you cannot lie to yourself, Lyanna” and for the first time, he had voluntarily used her name casually in a sentence, as she had requested of him so many times before, unsuccessfully. 

The idea of listening to what Rhaegar had to say scared her to the bones. It was the first time the unexperienced she-wolf had opened her heart to a man, and the first time she got hurt in such a way, and if she was going to be frank about it, she did not know how to deal with pain, or at least _that_ kind of pain. It scared her to think of what he could say. Because maybe, just maybe, he could say something she did not want to hear, something that would only hurt her even more. 

The scene itself, the one she kept replaying in her poor, tortured mind for the past two days, was intimidating. Because it sent waves of misery to think that, in just a few days, the dornish Princess had more intimacy with _him_ than she had in months of marriage. And maybe she was afraid of hearing him say something like ‘I was weak, I’m sorry’ or some sort of bullshit like that, that would only demonstrate that he was not the man she thought he was. Was she scared of finding out that she fell miserably in love with a man that was no less ordinary than any other noble man with his cock commanding his actions? Yes.

Because when she thought she saw Rhaegar's reflection on crystal clear water perfectly, a dark drop had fallen and his image was now all wrong and distorted and stained and it would just never be the same again. 

But she was Lyanna Stark, she was no coward, and if she had to face the truth, she would.

But how? 

“I…” she mumbled, bitting her lower lip in a poor attempt to calm her nerves, but eventually she gave up “I don’t want to give him another chance to keep hurting me, Arthurt” she admitted, and she almost, _almost_ felt her voice breaking. 

Arthur looked at her in surprise, but his expression softened soon after, and he gave her a serene, brotherly smile “I thought you were the brave Lyanna Stark of Winterfell”

“I am” she simply said in a low tone, doubting herself for a moment. Gods, how pathetic was she?

“Then you already know what to do” Arthur smiled, and at that point, it was clear enough that she would have to face _him._

She would. And she would only ask one thing out of him: the truth. And if he had at least _some_ of that man she used to think he was in him, he would give her that and he would admit it. And after that, Lyanna would be strong, and she would endure it as the she-wolf she was, and she would never allow him into her heart again. The truth from his lips, would seal _that._  

“Thank you, Arthur” 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to get over the fact that we will have to wait for another year to watch season 7... :/ And... IT'S FINALLY OFFICIAL! :D Jon Targaryen!


	29. Turning Page

"Don't give me that look” Elia snapped when the crystal clear violet eyes of Ashara Dayne perched upon her with certain judgmental air that she recognized instantly. Did she already forget about her roots? Where she came from? “Ashara… You don’t approve?” 

The copper skinned beauty denied with her head, sending her a glare that accompanied her gesture. “I just believe it was not necessary” she reproached. “You caused a big mess for nothing” 

“To be fair, this is the first time I’ve made a mess for _nothing_ ” she said, still in incredulity “I never thought he would reject me” Elia lamented as she lazily held a small, purple grape between her fingers.

Ashara remained in silence, but her eyes told her that she was still judging her. “What?” Elia asked when her companion just stood quiet. “You know how things are in Dorne, Ash…” 

“This is different, Elia. They are married. They are perfectly fine together. You shouldn’t have done that, it’s _wrong_ ” the lady explained.

Even when she _did_ have a point, Elia could swear that Ashara might have some kind of appreciation towards the Stark girl, and maybe that was where all the concern came from. 

But even so, she felt completely comfortable speaking with her. There was too much familiarity in their relationship to be set aside for a stranger, she knew. 

“Perfectly fine? The girl could pretty much be a piece of ice” she claimed, still trying to understand what went wrong “That’s why I did it” 

“It doesn’t matter, Elia. She _is_ his wife. If he was not a married man, that’s a completely different story, but if he’s-“ 

“Oh, you’re just saying that because of Brandon Stark, aren’t you?” Elia said in a dull tone, aware that the comment could have sounded sour, but Ashara needed a reminder that she herself was not an example of good behavior either. 

Ashara furrowed, and for a few seconds, her amethyst orbs seemed to be on fire. “That is completely different” she said, looking slightly upset.

“How so?” Elia asked with little interest. She was not in the mood for discussing over little things, specially with Ashara. 

“He was not married.” Ashara sentenced.

“But he was betrothed” she replied, lifting her eyes up to face Ashara’s.

“Brandon Stark did not love his betrothed.” she claimed with conviction, raising her eyebrows high in her forehead.

“And Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark love each other?” Elia rolled her eyes.

“Maybe” Ashara firmly answered, against any probability she thought there could be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

With the dark clouds above her, as a warning of the storm that was coming -It was funny how even the weather seemed to mimic her mood- she walked slowly through the hallways, like a ghost wandering around shyly in grief, searching for something that was lost or taken.  

Her legs seemed to be carrying her to the place as slowly as possible, still holding the small piece of paper in her hands, the one that said _he_ would meet her in her chambers -she refused, of course, because she did not want _him_ there-. Instead, she was the one going to him, reluctantly, but still going. All of the message in that small paper, written in black ink, with a beautiful calligraphy that could only belong to him. 

She made a fuss out of it at first, bursting in anger when she felt practically like a servant. Nobody commanded _her_. But then again, she was no coward. She didn’t do anything wrong, if there was anyone that had to feel the way she did -miserable and betrayed-, that _had_ to be him. 

So, in the end, Lyanna decided to summon him to his own solar, that place where he decided to behave like a pig. The cynical ass had agreed.  

She crumpled the paper in her hand. She had just perfected the art of crumpling papers in the last couple of days, which reminded her of the ruined invitation to her brother’s wedding. And it came to her mind… One of the things she would ask Rhaegar, was to be free to go to that wedding _alone._ It was probably going to be looked upon by the entire noble society, but she did not care, and it was the least he could do after his latest deed. Because after all, what would they say if they found out that their noble and gallant Rhaegar Targaryen _fucked_ the Princess of Dorne under his own wife’s roof. 

She stopped right in front of the solar. Lyanna stood there, quiet, for a couple of seconds that lasted an eternity to her. She pressed her lips tightly together as a reaction to the sudden stiffness that froze her there, she heard small drops of water falling outside the Keep, announcing that the storm that threatened to scourge the capital earlier was already there. Lyanna took a deep breath, ready for what she would have to deal with, ready to face _him._ Somehow, she managed to convince herself that, no matter what, she would not cry a single tear in front of him. 

With unexpected strength, she took a step forward, and her fist knocked on one of the doors lightly, the beatings of her heart suddenly turned slightly irregular.  

The crunch of the door warned her, and as soon as it opened, a gust of deep indigo threatened to blow her senses away, and everything turned vivid and bright, even that horrid memory that kept tormenting her.  But if on the inside she was raging and hurt and fighting, on the outside, she only remained cold and quiet and distant.

“Hello” his voice was rich as always, his eyes were gentle upon her, she noticed. _Does he pity me now?_ He invited her in, and as she stepped in, she felt her bloodstream run faster. 

He closed the door behind them, the dry sound resonating in the stance with the wet sound of the rain outside as a background gave her the notion that, in that moment, it was only the two of them.

Acknowledging him behind her, Lyanna encircled the desk, a finger sliding across the surface lazily, and her gaze down on it.  

Her senses jumped when he positioned himself right in front of her. He looked like he wanted to reach her and touch her, those deep purple orbs were drowning her, and her glare was warning him not to try anything.  

“Speak” her voice was silky, she noticed, but cold and inexpressive as well. 

At the freezing tone in her voice, he seemed disappointed, the corner of his mouth twitched and his body language told her that any attempt of reaching her was long gone. 

Instead, he remained still in his position, his stare was heavy upon her. “I’ve missed you” the sound was mournful, as if the life got out of him with every word. Was she stupid enough to believe it?

“Spare me your falseness, Your Highness” Lyanna snorted, feeling how his previous sentence had just poked at her heart with a lance. “I came here to hear you _explain._ As if there could be any explanation” 

At her hard, unbending words, he assumed a more straight posture, probably realizing she was not there to play the heartbroken maid with him. “Fine.” he finally said, the sorrowful tone still there, and a sigh pushed past his lips “What you saw, the other day… Lyanna, you are so wrong.” 

“Am I?” she asked, and she did not move an inch from where she was standing, her gaze straight into his.

“Yes.” he insisted “Elia Martell offered herself as a mistress. I rejected her…” 

She wanted to laugh. She offered herself? It could be. He rejected her? He didn’t do it properly, based on what she saw. 

“Oh, really? The noble Rhaegar Targaryen rejected Elia Martell because he is such, such a faithful man.” she mocked with bitterness, but the truth was, it was becoming harder and harder to stand there in front of him and remain like a stone “Then why was she displaying her tits on your fucking face?” Lyanna spat, losing some of the self-control she proudly achieved before. 

At her statement, he did not seem surprised.  “Because she _tried_ to convince me, Lyanna. She _tried,_ but I said no” he replied firmly. 

When a small part of her wanted to believe him, her wolf pride was begging her not to. What kind of fool would believe such a thing? If Brandon was there, he would probably mock her for even doubting herself. _I’m falling for it._  

Out of anger, anger towards herself, she reacted. “You’re unbelievable” she laughed sourly, throwing her hands in the air helplessly “You could at least admit your flaw!” Lyanna hissed angrily, and any sign of her coldness was long gone, because she had a storm of fire raging within her, a storm fighting to be released. 

“I won’t admit something that is not true” his voice was iron, and it was firm and strong, filled with conviction that almost fooled her again. 

Lyanna closed her eyes, trying to ignore the tight knot that formed in her throat, sinking her nails in her palms as she clenched her fists tightly “And I won’t believe such a thing! I refuse!” she growled, looking at him intensely, losing the little self control she had left “You bastard! As if _that_ woman would’ve done such a thing without a hint, without any sign from you!” she accused again vigorously.

Seeing him in front of her, putting such a flawless act, it was melting her ice mask quickly. All she wanted from him, was the truth, to hear it from _him_ , because maybe that was the only way to calm her sore heart and finally let him go. “Just tell the truth!” she hissed again, this time, hitting her fist against the desk.

He stepped closer to her, quick and firm, and his eyes seemed just as angry as hers, with purple flames elevating brightly in them. “I… Did not… Do… Anything” his voice was dangerously low, and he looked like he could just grab her by the shoulders right there. But he never did. 

Feeling the rage and the impotence piling up in her chest, she let a loud cry of frustration and pain out. Feeling the urge to leave, to be alone, to get away from him as fast as she could, she walked past him and slammed the door open, getting out of the place like a soul in grief escaping from hell.

Instantly, she heard his footsteps behind her, chasing her. “Is that how you solve everything? Running away?” 

“I’m _not_ running away!” she roared, walking as fast as her legs allowed her, aware that her actions and her words did not exactly matched each other.  

“Then what is this?!” he shouted. 

“I’m not gonna stay and hear your lies!” Lyanna kept walking, not looking back. “I won’t have it!”

He grabbed her by the arm, and the exact, same scene from days ago repeated. This time, he grabbed her gruffly, his touch was not gentle neither careful. “Stop acting like a child, Lyanna” he tightened his grip around her arm “Are you angry? Why? Because you came here looking for a confession of guilt, but instead you get another thing: the truth. Can’t you deal with it?”

She abruptly got herself freed from his grip. Without thinking it twice, the she-wolf directed herself quickly out to the yard, feeling like those stupid tears could finally be released under the disguise the rain gave them.

She stopped in the middle of the yard, listening to his footsteps behind her again, feeling the cold drops of water soaking her gown, her skin, and mixing perfectly with the salty tears that ran down her cheeks against her will. “Leave me alone!” she cried and turned around to face him when she felt her face completely soaked. The perfect disguise.

She saw him standing behind her, tall and imposing and beautiful, and just like her, completely wet and angry, with strands of blonde hair sticking to his face “I won’t! Until you stop acting like a stubborn child and hear the entire story!” he roared, his nostrils contracting with every breath.

“I don’t want to listen to you!” Lyanna could clearly see the irritation growing in her husband, his sharp features were hardened with every words of rejection towards him, but her uneasy heart begged her to do it, to leave him, to let him go. 

“Well, you fucking will! Because I won’t be blamed for something I have no fault in!” 

“No fault in?!” she frowned, feeling her hair completely wet, and little strands sticking to her face and chest “You are no different from Robert Baratheon! You are nothing more than a better looking version of him! And I fucking hate you!” she shouted angrily, the sound of her voice, mixed with the intense growl of a sudden thunder, made her jump. Or perhaps, only her words did. But she would not back away, not even when his stare became incredibly cold and sharp on her. “I wish I never came here with you! I would’ve preferred to marry that disgusting drunken whoremonger, at least he never fooled me like you did!” she cried, acknowledging that it was all a lie. A _fucking_ lie. But maybe then she could hurt his pride just like he hurt hers.

His face seemed contorted, his jaw was clenched and his eyes looked like those of a dragon waiting to burn everything in his way. And he did. Because with his next words, low and sharp and cruel, he burned her worst than wildfire “Perfect, then. Because I was planning to send you back to Winterfell anyway.” the young Dragon Prince dryly spoke, the pleasing sound of his cruel voice, mixing with the sound of the rain colliding on the ground felt like a dagger cutting deeply into her chest. 

And after that, silence. The most crude, utter silence. 

Why did it hurt so much?

She gulped heavily, and a sob escaped her, against any resistance she could’ve put, feeling like he had just slapped her across the face. The last thing she saw before bitting her lower lip hardly and staring down at the muddy, blurry ground, was his face, cold and indifferent. 

Her chest went up and down, and if there was any doubt before that she was crying, there was no more. She took a deep breath that ended up leaving her lips in the form of a sob. Never before she felt so small, looking down at her feet, not able to lift her head. 

 _Why?_ If he was planning to send her back to Winterfell like damaged furniture, then why? Why did he make her believe?

She wanted to move, she truly wanted to just run away and escape that fucking Red Keep and go back to her home. But her legs did not respond. 

“Lyanna, I…” he mumbled near her, cupping her face with a warm hand, and only then she became aware of his presence just a few inches away from her. When did he get so close? “I didn’t mean to…” unlike moments before, his voice sounded gentle, sounded nice, sounded _regretful_. 

She lifted her gaze, and she only saw regret and despair on those mystic orbs. But what he said before… Was it true? It probably was. 

“Just… Just leave it” she muttered, resisting the urge to sob once again, and pushing his hand away slowly with hers. 

 _Why does it hurt so much?_ The sore in her chest was unbearable, one she never experienced before. It was ripping her chest open, and taking her heart from her. 

His hands cupped her face again, his warm touch seemed to have a double effect on her, one that calmed the soreness, and one that left painful, burning trails behind. It didn’t even make sense, that bittersweet sensation he produced on her. 

He looked down, his sorrowful eyes met hers, and the melancholy that flooded those dark, purple gems was heartbreaking. Even if her heart was already broken. 

He stroked her face gently, and even if she wanted to just push him away, she couldn’t. “I’m sorry” he almost begged, his thumb sliding against her lips softly as he spoke “I’m so sorry. I did not mean it” he sentenced as she sobbed, furrowing deeply as more hot tears escaped her “And Elia, Gods, Lyanna. I would’ve never done that to you. I love you.” under the iron tones of his voice, a spark of affection shimmered, one that only made her feel sick with sadness. 

She looked up at him, water dripping from the tip of his nose. He was close, _too_ close. And against her good judgment, she did not push him away. How could she?

Without any warning, he leaned down and pushed their lips together in a breathtaking kiss, and the hot sensation of his mouth in hers made her heart jump in despair. If at the beginning she just stood there, static, after a few seconds she surrendered to the delicious sensations that kiss produced within her. 

In that moment, nothing mattered anymore. Because his words held honesty, honesty that made her stumble in her stubbornness, and his eyes… Gods, those eyes could melt her icy skin with only a glare. And nothing else mattered then. Only him, and her.

She put her hands on the back of his neck, and soon after, she felt his arms surrounding her waist tightly, pushing her closer to him.

The rain kept falling upon them, but it didn’t matter, because all she felt was the heat that his body irradiated. The contrasting, cold little drops only made the pleasing sensations sharper, and she hungrily parted her lips to let her tongue play with his. 

Her breathing became heavier when she felt his tongue toying playfully with hers, her fingers rooted in his pale blonde hair, pulling it slightly as he held her impossibly close to him. Feeling a bubbling sensation down in her lower stomach, and following her instincts, she deepened the kiss, massaging his tongue slowly with hers, and a soft, almost inaudible moan escaped her only to drown in his mouth, and as an immediate reaction, he lifted her up, his hands on the back of her thighs, against the soaked silk of her gown. She crossed her legs around his waist, securing her hold around him tightly, feeling like she could just mean in pleasure right there. 

Rhaegar broke the kiss, his breathing was just as agitated as hers, his eyes, those beautiful dark, indigo gems stared at her like she was the only thing in the entire world that mattered. It made her burn inside. 

She wrapped her legs around him tighter, and placed a slow, hungry kiss on his lips again, tasting the rain from his warm lips. It tasted heavenly, truly, and her hands pulled him closer and closer and closer as she panted into his mouth.

At her incandescent moves, the Dragon Prince carried her in his arms, leaving the yard and getting into the Keep once again, imprinting soft kisses on her neck that made her shiver as he carried her away through the hallways, leaving a wet trail on the floor behind them. 

She certainly did not care if anyone was watching, and apparently, neither did he, because all the way to his chambers, he kept depositing hot kisses on her skin as she caressed his face softly, wanting him more and more with every touch. 

She could not deny the anxiety that rooted deep within her, aware of where her actions would lead her, but completely sure of what she wanted. _Him._

And when they finally reached their destination and the doors of his familiar chambers closed behind them, he let her down gently, as if she was made of glass. 

Her hands searched for the hem of his doublet, indicating him silently and shyly what she wanted. And Gods, she did want to see his golden skin once again. 

He smiled sweetly at her, one of those mid smiles that many times before had her daydreaming. He took the soaked piece of fabric off as the candles of the stance burned low, leaving his well defined torso exposed before her eyes, gleaming with the weak light that fire gave them. Her fingers traced the lines of his abs, while she lost herself in his intoxicating scent. “I want you” she murmured timidly, bitting her lower lip and feeling the heat creeping up her neck and cheeks.

Before he could say anything else in response, she turned around slowly, and pushed her wet hair to the side, exposing the laces of her gown before him as a clear sign.  

She acknowledged him behind her, and her heart soared instantly. His arms surrounding her waist, his breath on the crook of her neck, and his lips kissing her sensitive skin before speaking against her ear. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her, sending shivers down her spine. Gods, that had only fanned the fire within her intensely. 

She nodded in silence, closing her eyes and only feeling his lips on her skin, as his gentle fingers worked on her laces skillfully after she gave him permission. 

He kept kissing her neck, her shoulder, and she simply leaned on him, breathing heavily as a satisfied smile adorned her lips. She could feel him burning with desire behind her, she could feel it in his touch, specially when he slipped the gown down her shoulders and past her hips, and with it, her small clothes, and the fabrics ended up pooled on the floor around her feet. 

With her body exposed, her skin still wet, the cold air of the room made her shiver. When Lyanna turned around, with desire bubbling in her stomach, the dark eyes of her Dragon were burning her alive, admiring every inch of her snow-like skin, and melting it with his gaze. 

“You’re beautiful” he whispered against her mouth as he lifted her chin with a finger, and kissed her lips softly, his warm hand running down from her shoulder to her bare waist. 

When a groan escaped her, she felt him smile against her lips, as his hand ran up and down her back. He guided her to the bed, where he laid her gently.

Lying there, completely naked before his hungry eyes, eagerness took over her. From her spot, she could fully appreciate him, kneeled in front of her, his golden skin shimmering with the faint light of the candles, his light, blonde hair adhered to his shoulders and chest, making him irresistible to her eyes, and his face… Gods, his face was filled with burning lust, lust for _her._ He looked like a golden God. Had she ever been so turned on? No. Never before. The moment a small gout of water travelled down from his chest, past his defined abs, until it got lost inside his breeches, she gulped heavily. 

He settled above her, and her mouth felt dry when his intoxicating scent surrounded her, his strong arms were at her sides, and her hands ran up and down his back, large and taut from training at swords for years.  

Rhaegar kissed her slowly to ease the anxiousness in her, as if reading her like one of his books. He traced a small path of soft kisses, from her lips to her chin, down her neck, until he reached beyond her shoulders and to the vale of her breasts.

Her Prince stopped there, admiring her beautiful form, those slightly small breasts of her, crowned by two pink, small knobs erected proudly. One of his hands cupped a breast, caressing it slowly, and Lyanna panted in the cold air of the room at the contact. The moment she felt his mouth upon a nipple, a small gasp pushed past her lips, and she stroked his hair in delight when she felt his fingers pinching the other small knob. 

He kept licking the hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue, sucking and bitting lightly, plucking small sighs from her throat as he did it. Gods, was there anything better than that? She quickly noticed the wetness pooling between her legs, and her blush intensified when her eyes laid on him, savoring her tender flesh with delight. She threw her head back, enjoying the arousing sensation.

The moment his mouth left her breasts, she lifted her head up once again, watching him as if she could devour him, urging him to continue. 

He kissed his way down on her body, looking at her with lustful eyes as he imprinted his mark upon her skin with every kiss. 

Rhaegar kissed her down her breasts, her flat stomach, making her feel small tickles as he got closer and closer to her center. He softly kneaded her milky, toned thighs, encouraging her to part her legs for him, and she gladly did. 

When she felt his lips down _there,_ with his arms around her thighs to spread them wide apart, kissing her softly as he would kiss her mouth, she threw her head back in ecstasy and arched her back in pleasure, and when his warm tongue slid between her silky folds, a loud moan escaped her lips.

The wolf maid had never felt such a thing, she even heard about women doing that to men, but that… That had her static, with her lips parted in search of air, her husband sending thrills all over her body with every swift move his tongue made.

Lyanna suddenly felt one of his fingers at her entrance, playing her like he would play his harp, and she could only bit her lower lip in desire when it pushed into her, slipping into her hot wetness as his tongue made small circles around the small, pink bud that was her core. 

“Oh, Gods” she arched her back even more.

Drunk in her keen pleasure, she tangled her fingers on his wet hair, pulling it hard as her hips were grinding against his face out of desire. When she looked down to him, he was staring right back at her, a satisfied smirk on his wet lips.

Rhaegar kept licking her there, sending vibrations up and down within her hot, tortured body, with an arm then holding her hips still, and her legs as parted as they could be for him. When his fingers and his tongue began to work together faster on her wet cunt, she felt an unbearable heat building up inside her, as if something was ready to explode at any moment, until it finally reached its limit, and everything faded. The sensation had her feeling light headed and panting intensely, her hands pulling his hair gruffly as she felt the delicious sensation invading her completely. What was that? She did not know, but it left her exhausted, satisfied as she had never been before in her entire life, and wanting more of him. 

Her chest was going up and down in a frenetic pace, and kneeling in front of her once again, a satisfied looking Rhaegar smirked at her, his lips wet with her arousal.

Feeling the desire bubbling down her stomach again, and her cunt throbbing eagerly, she impatiently sat up on the bed, and grabbed him by the hips, facing his perfectly sculpted abs. She clumsily undid the laces of his breeches, and Rhaegar tossed them aside. 

Looking at him in all his naked glory, she felt drunk again, an intense blush creeping up her cheeks when her eyes landed on his hardened manhood. Because he was beautiful, too fucking beautiful. His golden skin, his lean and defined muscles, his face… 

She never thought she’d want somebody so badly as she wanted him. 

He leaned down upon her, her back was flat against the mattress again, but this time, his weight was upon her, his naked body was on top of hers. The contact with his hot skin was delicious, and he accommodated himself between her legs, one of his arms surrounding her waist, and his eyes darkened by lust, just like she suspected hers were. 

To feel trapped between his bare body and the mattress was wonderful, suffocating and arousing, and when she felt his throbbing, hardened cock grinding against her wetness, sliding between her folds and that little nub that gave her so much pleasure, _teasing_ her with the friction, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her full lips parted as she shifted her hips up just slightly.  She was desperately panting against his mouth as he kept teasing her like that, because it felt so good, but at the same time, it felt like like she _needed_ him even more, _inside_ her. 

“Do it” she whispered against his ear as he groaned on the crook of her neck, enjoying the sensation she was giving him.

He looked at her mindfully, his eyes making full contact with hers, as if trying to reassure what she meant. Lyanna nodded slightly, smiling sweetly at him, feeling her heart being wrapped up in a warm sensation. 

Kissing her lips once more, he grabbed his large cock with a hand and positioned himself at the entrance of her slick cunt, he was hard as iron, she noticed, and she held her breath in anticipation when she felt it teasing her at her hot entrance.

Seconds later, he pushed himself slowly inside her, and she closed her eyes tightly, feeling the big, hard intruder thrusting into her slowly, tearing her maidenhead apart. 

It was painful, a long sting deep in her core. She felt him too big for her, her walls were tight around him, but along with such a pain, a deep, excruciating pleasure misted within her.

With her eyes tightly shut, she felt his complete size inside her. He stopped moving, and his mouth kissed hers, gently, slowly, as his hand caressed her cheek sweetly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice was low and sweet, and when she opened her eyes, she found his concerned expression upon her.

Smiling lightly, she nodded. “Yes” she murmured, her hands cupping his face lovingly. 

After several seconds, in which he kept looking at her with loving eyes, she gave him a smile that encouraged him to keep going, and so he did. “I’m sorry” he whispered before kissing her again, distracting her from her stinging pain as he moved inside her slowly, massaging her lips with his own, easing her pain away. 

His thrusts were slow, careful, and soon enough she accustomed to his size. That was when she decided she wanted more, she was ready for more, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him a better access. 

The Dragon Prince pushed in and out of her, filling her with every thrust. Her hips moved along his, and her nails were digging deeply on his back. She was sure that he would end up carrying marks after their coupling.

As the rhythm intensified, so did her pleasure. Gods, it felt so fucking good to have him inside after she got used to him. She heard him curse under his breath as he pulled his wet cock completely out of her, only to bury himself deep inside soon after _“Fuck”_ he cursed as he kept going in and out of her in a faster rhythm, bitting her neck in the process. It only turned her on even more. He had her moaning in uncontrollable pleasure with every thrust, filling her, making her feel waves of pleasure that lunged her body intensely.

To her surprise, he suddenly grabbed her legs, and positioned them so they rested upon his shoulders, his erected cock out of her, shimmered with her arousal. He buried himself deep inside her again, this time harder, and she groaned loudly, sinking her nails on his back as she admired his perfect face immerse in such a pleasing trance. _So beautiful._

He thrusted into her deeper, faster, harder, and she felt her walls tightening unbearably around his hard cock with every pump, because watching him so delighted by her only made her hungrier, and he could possibly tell by the growing wetness of her cunt and how soaked her inner thighs already were with her juices. The same heat that built within her before, was building up again, this time more intense, _hungrier_ , stronger. When his rhythm became unbearable to keep up, and one of his hands grabbed one of her swollen breast gruffly, pinching one of her nipples between his fingers, she arched her back in keen pleasure, a sensation so overwhelming that it took over her senses “Oh Gods! Rhaegar!” she moaned, and she pressed him against her body as she could, her hips still grinding against his even after she had found her complete satisfaction in the waves of ecstasy that came to her. 

Soon after, she felt him stiffening upon her as he spilled his seed inside her with one last, long thrust and a groan, his face seemed relieved as he collapsed on top of her, his hot, agitated breath caressing the skin of her neck, and she stroked his hair lovingly as she tried to calm her own breathing down, feeling his seed down her thighs. 

 _Gods_. 

The sound of his uneasy breathing, the feeling of his hot skin burning hers, it was heaven. He laid next to her, and one of his arms reached for her, surrounding her small waist in a possessive embrace, pulling her closer to him. 

His beautiful amethyst eyes were staring into her soul, shimmering with adoration, and a small, tired smile formed on his lips “I love you, you know?” he murmured into her hair, caressing it softly, still agitated. He deposited a sweet kiss on the top of her head “Gods, I love you” his velvet like voice professed again, and it made her heart melt. 

She felt a fond smile growing in her lips at the words that warmed her heart so tenderly. She was happy, happier than she had ever been, but also tired. “I love you too” she muttered, a hand stroking his cheek gently, as her eyes got lost the depth of his’. 

Laying there, next to him, with their legs tangled and melting in a warm, loving embrace, feeling his marveled gaze upon her, she felt complete. She felt happy. And then, she felt her lids heavy, the tiredness spreading through her entire body slowly.

Rhaegar smiled fondly at her before he reached for the sheets, and covered their naked bodies with it. He hugged her, his strong arms surrounded her as his intoxicating scent floated around her.  

Lyanna rested her head on his chest, listening to his now slow heartbeat, and the sound of the rain that kept falling insistently on the outside. Only moments later, she finally surrendered to the heavy sleepiness that took over her and dragged her down to a peaceful dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! My first sex scene ._.
> 
> It's 3 am and I'm dying to sleep. So, good night y'all! Hope you have a wonderful week :)


	30. Brighter Mornings

It was certainly not his duty as a Kingsguard, but rather as a friend, Arthur Dayne decided after the short conversation he held with Rhaegar. Because if there was at least one way to help his best friend, and of course, Lyanna as well, he would find it, and for some reason, he thought that maybe his beloved sister could be of use in that matter. And he was right. 

“I know I have to do this, dear brother. I don’t feel comfortable with this situation either” his dark haired sister spoke softly, only for his ears to listen, her violet orbs staring at him with seriousness as she frowned. “I know what I must do”

“Then do it” Arthur said dryly, and she only nodded.

He was right when he thought that Ashara could know something about what truly happened. His sister had been a long time friend of the Dornish Princess, and Elia, even when several years passed, seemed just as attached to her as she was back in Dorne. So, when he went to his sister for help, he only confirmed his suspects. Elia had told Ashara about it. 

“I will, Arthur… Even if I find it difficult to betray a friend’s trust.” 

“You friend has caused many troubles, dear sister. And all for naught.” the knight sentenced, scowling at the thought.

“That is why I will tell Princess Lyanna the truth. It is the right thing to do. Besides, I _do_ appreciate her, and also Prince Rhaegar.” 

“So do I. They do not deserve this” 

“No, they don’t” she lowly said, her gaze blank and lost in somewhere beyond him “Specially not now” she muttered, understanding just as well as he did how things had progressed.

With his sister’s acceptance, he was reassured. What was right would be done. He could not just sit back with crossed arms and witness the mess, at least not if he could help Rhaegar, and of course, also the sweet and kind Lyanna. 

He knew Rhaegar for so many years, that the Silver Prince became more of a brother to him than anything else. 

For so many years, he had seen Rhaegar with his neutral mask on, and in some occasions, even with the heavy melancholy that sometimes threatened to sink him down, carrying the weight of his father’s actions on his shoulders. 

It was said once, by Ser Barristan Selmy, that there was a sense of _doom_ in him, as if the grievance and the tragedy of Summerhall had followed him through his years. Some of it, was probably true, because there _was_ an inevitable sense of melancholy in his friend, one that sometimes he understood, and that sometimes, he just could not understand. But one thing was for sure: to deal with a man like the King, a man with no boundaries, that has proven to be not only mad, but also passionately cruel towards innocent people, was a burden too heavy for anyone to carry. Specially when so much was expected from him as a Crown Prince and heir to the throne, and when that mad _man_ was his own father. 

Also, there were two reasons why he liked Lyanna Stark. The first one, the most obvious one: Lyanna Stark was a compassionate soul, sometimes stubborn and quick to anger, yes, but also with a kind, generous heart and a wild and free spirit, sometimes even streaking with innocence that could be even considered dangerous for herself in a place like King’s Landing. The second reason, was a more personal one. She was _good_ for Rhaegar. The beautiful northern Princess had touched the Prince’s heart, that he could easily see, even as unreadable as Rhaegar Targaryen was, it was easy for him to tell that she had claimed his friend’s heart with her wild soul and mystic charms. 

It was as if the Silver Prince had fallen for her slowly, but suddenly all at once. One day, there he was, concerned about how he would handle such a difficult wife, planning to send her away for her own sake. And then… And then, his eyes began to linger for too long upon her, and he would start smiling in her company, not like when he smiled for the lords and ladies in Court, no. It was not a smile of politeness, but one of happiness. And ever since that happened, the staining melancholy in Rhaegar’s eyes, had almost completely faded, if not only for some scarce moments in which his sometimes sad nature found a way out. But it was truth, that the stunning she-wolf had soothed that strange sadness in him. 

“When?” Arthur asked, his mind going back to reality, staring at his sister’s slim silhouette in the darkness of the night. 

“In the morning. I will ask to see the Princess, and I will tell her everything.” she calmly spoke, grinning weakly. 

“Thank you, sweet sister. The Gods shall reward you for this deed” 

“I’m only doing what is right” she directed her mystic gaze upon him, reassuring him for the second time that night. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes were still closed when the first golden rays of sun touched her porcelain skin, and her pouty lips were slightly parted, the rosy velvet of them contrasting softly against the creamy white of her skin, while a few locks of her hair fell messily upon her face. She had such a peaceful expression that he tried not to move only not to disturb her sleep, not even to take a better look at the ethereal image of her lovely face resting on his chest. 

It was probably her soft breathing and slightly smiling lips that made him send his responsibilities to hell for that one day, only to focus completely on her and on the small freckles that dusted upon her pale shoulders.  

Admiring her in such a vulnerable state was fascinating, that he learned on the first morning he watched her sleeping next to him. But that morning, their second one together, was even brighter than the first. It gave him the impression that it would always be like that with Lyanna, every morning brighter than the one before.

She made a small grunting noise, and suddenly, the hand that rested on his chest landed on his cheek, pulling his face clumsily to her side, as one of her soft legs were dragged over his hip. Something in her sleep made her frown a little and throw a few senseless murmurs to the air that he could not decipher, until she finally stilled again and her face regained the calm expression it held before. It was impossible for him not to smile, and even maybe let a little chuckle out. 

He saw her opening her hazel eyes slowly, blinking lazily a few times before completely waking up. She lifted her gaze up to him, and a sweet smile curled the corners of her lips up, enlightening her fair features instantly. “Good morning” he greeted her, lowering his voice as much as he could. 

“Hmmm… “ she hummed while stretching her legs “Good morning” she smiled, sliding her fingers along the sharp line of his jaw. “How long have you been awake?” 

“Long enough to hear you mutter in your sleep” he almost chuckled, specially when her lips parted in surprise and her cheeks acquired a rosy tone, she threw the most indignant look in her arsenal. 

“I did not!” her contagious laugh rang like bells across the room. 

“Yes you did” he teasingly replied, grinning from ear to ear.

She sat up then, holding the sheets against her chest to cover her bare form -but it did not matter because he could still see those small freckles on her skin. “And what exactly did I say?” she narrowed her eyes towards him and bit her pink lower lip in a way that made him want to pull her close again. 

“Oh I’m not sure” he jested, licking his lips before speaking again, gazing mindfully at her expressions “Something about me, I think” he said while putting an arm behind his head in a laid back attitude “I think it was something like ‘You’re so handsome, Rhaegar’. Even though, I’m not sure about the name, it could’ve been another, you know” he flashed a smile to her when he finished, and before he could even say something else, a pillow crashed against his face, making him laugh loudly with his face in it. 

“Shut up, _you_ ” she laughed when he removed the pillow from his face. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked looking up at her, a hand running down and up her arm. 

She denied with her head, the messy, long locks of chestnut colored hair falling down her shoulders, waving in the air with the motion. “I just want to lay here for a while longer, with you” she said “Do you have to leave?” Lyanna slightly frowned. 

It was funny, how distressed she suddenly looked, but yet how lovely her distressed features were. “No” he said. 

“Perfect. Because you’re mine this morning” she stated calmly before leaning down and depositing a tender kiss upon his lips, her long strands of hair caressing his face when falling down. 

“Yes, I am” he carelessly replied, smiling lightly against her lips, placing his hands on the soft curves of her waist. 

“Aha…” she whispered before kissing him again, this time, slower, and hungrier, her steely gaze ablaze. 

She was soft, her satin skin was warm against his when she moved, she positioned herself on top of him, with her knees on each side of him, and the crisp, white sheets still wrapping her slim body. She looked down at him with her big, hazel eyes, batting her dark lashes a few times, looking just as if she was a child about to break a vessel. “Rhaegar…” her melodic voice sounded small, and he quickly noted the slightly rosy tone in her cheeks. “Yes?” 

Lyanna traced small circles on his chest with her finger, bitting her lower lip, her hazel orbs wide open with a small spark of curiosity lit up in them. “Is… Is _it_ always thus? You know… ” she asked timidly, but suggestively, and he assumed that she was talking about the intimacy they shared the night before. “Making love”

She looked slightly embarrassed, her pink colored cheeks that contrasted strongly with her usual pale tone turned her in, but he found her ignorance on the subject sweetly adorable, and so different from the Lyanna from the night before, the one that made his blood boil in his veins with a single feather-like touch and her hungry kisses. “It can always be… Why?” he softly replied, placing his hands on her hips gently and looking straight into her stunning eyes. The idea, the concept of having her, it was heartwarming to him. 

“Because It was… It was fantastic.” a murmur was what pushed past her tender lips, a warm smile in them. “Right?” she asked seconds later, a slight frown of concern appearing. Was she actually concerned that he did not share her opinion. 

Rhaegar sat up, still holding her from the hips, his eyes melting in hers as he looked up. “If you’re trying to ask me if I enjoyed it as much as you did… Let me tell you, Lyanna Stark, that it was the best night of my life” his amethyst gaze melt in hers, and his voice was iron when he spoke.

She leaned down slowly, the sweet smile lingering on her full lips. She cupped his face with her soft hands delicately, and deposited a sweet, slow kiss on his lips that made him curl his strong arms around her waist possessively, delighted by the warm and tickling feeling that her porcelain skin produced in his. 

Holding her like that, so close, it felt as if they were pieces in a puzzle that simply fitted together. _Completely_ fitted. 

She caressed his lower lip shyly with the tip of her tongue, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and so he did, exploring her sweet mouth, running his hands slowly up and down her bare back, enjoying the sensation that her silky skin was giving him, the very same sensations that were warming his dragon blood quickly. Lyanna suddenly threw her head back, inviting him to take her exposed, pale neck with his lips, and he did not reject the invitation. 

He kissed every inch of the pale skin of her neck, softly, slowly, worshipping her, and a delightful gasp escaped her, her slender fingers pulling his hair slightly with every motion he made, and he could not help but to look up at her, with her closed eyes and her blushed face. Gods, she was perfect.

The sheets that wrapped her body was then long forgotten in a corner of the bed, and now, her slim, graceful body was displayed in front of him in all her glory, every inch of her creamy skin was tempting and glowing and smooth as velvet. 

When she bit his earlobe, he felt himself hardening under her, his body reacting to every touch she gave him, to every small gasp she let out when his lips imprinted warm kisses on her satin skin, to her delicate hands wandering all over his body. 

Her eyes were now upon him, lust clouding her beautiful hazel orbs, and her pink, parted lips inviting him once more to take them. 

When their lips met once again, she lifted up on her knees with her hands on his shoulders, only to slid herself down his hardened manhood slowly. 

He let out a gasp when he felt his throbbing cock being imprisoned inside her, she was warm and wet and tight and the feeling of it all, mixed with the soft caress of her lips on his skin, was exceedingly mind blowing. 

She looked down at him mischievously, a small smirk on her lips “I wonder if I can make _this_ the best morning of your life too” she spoke breathlessly as she rode him, undulating her hips over and over again, slow and calm. 

Rhaegar chuckled between gasps against her lips, unable to give her any coherent answer at the time as he held her tightly from the waist, thrusting up to meet her hips again, her warm breath brushing his lips as she moaned lowly. “I believe you already did” he whispered before planting a kiss on her chin. 

“Oh really?” she smirked as she pushed him back into the pillows, her elbows on his chest for support, and her hips never stopping the pace, but rather increasing it gradully. It was fascinating, the way her eyes seemed to want to devour him with intensity, fierce as a she-wolf, and how her shyness faded once her hot wolf-blood took over her senses. 

“Yes” he breathed against her mouth, and when she gave him a small smirk again, he lost it. 

He sat up once again, gripping her hips tightly, thrusting harder and deeper into her as her hips were desperately grinding against his. “Oh!” she moaned in his ear as she moved, surrounding his neck with her arms, and it only fanned the fire within him, guiding her hips up and down with his hands in a frantic rhythm that would soon lead them to their release. If anyone was at their doors, guarding them, they could just go to hell, because he did not care, and apparently, she did not either.

He felt her arching her back, her walls tightening excruciatingly around his cock, and her fingers pulling his hair tightly, as she let out a loud moan of relief. Only then he felt his own ecstasy overcoming him, taking over his body and eventually exploding, spilling himself in her. 

She collapsed next to him, her breathing unsteady, her cheeks painted in bright pink, but her pale skin glowing radiant. In that moment, he could not think of anything more beautiful than his blushed she-wolf, with her sweet mischievous smile and her stunning eyes upon him. 

He positioned himself on his side, resting his head on a hand, trying to ease his own breathing while looking marveled at her. She was smiling and her eyes were closed, her chestnut strands were spilled all over the pillows in messy locks. “What?” she grinned, turning to look at him with gleaming eyes. 

“Nothing” he said, foreknowing that she would push it. 

“Tell me” she requested inquisitively, arching an eyebrow up high. 

“You are beautiful” 

She chuckled nervously, sending a strand of hair behind her ear, covering herself again a with the forgotten sheets at her feet. “I know” she jested. But he did not. 

He wondered if she even realized how beautiful she was when she laughed, and how spirited she could be whenever her gaze changed from soft to sharp as blades whenever something bothered her, and how reckless her mind sometimes was. She probably was not aware of it all. 

Her relaxed expression suddenly changed, and was replaced by one of brief surprise. “Oh, I forgot…” her voice sounded a little bit higher, and he listened mindfully. “The day I went to your solar and…” she frowned for half a second, shaking her head slightly “You know… I went there to let you know about my brother’s upcoming wedding.”

“Not Brandon, I suppose” he said, recalling Lyanna’s older brother, the one that faded, leaving everything behind. 

“Nay. Eddard. He’s betrothed to Catelyn Tully now. And they sent an invitation to their wedding for us” she grinned.

In the end, Lord Rickard Stark had successfully fixed any damage to his house that Brandon Stark could’ve done when he flew away. Behind that betrothal, lied Eddard Stark’s lordship, the “Quiet Wolf” some called him, and the title fitted him perfectly. Somehow, the title of “Warden of the North” suited Eddard better than Brandon, or at least _he_ could perceive that. 

“In Riverrun?” he asked, supposing the place where the wedding would take place, and she nodded.

The invitation was sent, and even if he knew that the King would not leave his Keep for anything in the world, plunged in his dark paranoia, and would probably not allow his mother and Viserys to leave either, he was almost sure that he would not object to him and Lyanna going. Or at least he hoped so. “I’ll make the preparations then” he smiled at her, and she pecked his cheek. 

“I can’t wait to go” the excitement in her voice was evident. Leaving King’s Landing, at least for a short time, would be good, he knew.

“Have you been in Riverrun before, _Princess?”_   

“Hmmm hmmm” she denied “But the prospect of leaving the city at least for a while… Well…”

“I know what you mean” he vaguely said, his mind suddenly going to a forgotten place that he used to love, that he _still_ loved.

“Do you?” she questioned, resting her chin on her hand. 

“I do” he sighed “I used to go somewhere whenever the noise of King’s Landing was too much to bear” 

She lifted her head slightly, small sparks of curiosity lit her eyes up “Where?” 

He smiled. “Summerhall”

“Oh… What is it like?” she asked, her orbs flooding with curiosity.

How long had it been since the last time he set a foot in Summerhall, and felt its hot, humid air in his skin, he wondered. “Peaceful” he simply said, aware that she would probably not understand or that the simple word was not enough to describe that mystic place. “It’s near the Red Mountains, near the Reach” he explained, trying to give her a more accurate description “Summerhall was a summer castle and residence used by the Targaryen family. It was magnificent and imponent, mother says. But a great fire broke out one day, and the castle burnt down” he continued, pausing for a moment to admire Lyanna’s attentive gaze upon him. “King Aegon V died that day, and his son, Prince Duncan died too. Mother was there…” he absentmindedly said, trying to picture his sweet mother in the middle of the fuss and the fire and the ashes. It was as if he could see her there, suffering in the middle of the mess. 

“And what happened?” Lyanna’s startled voice rang, and the image of his mother in the middle of the tragedy vanished. 

Rhaegar looked down at her, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear under her attentive gaze. “She was heavy with child at the time. She could not resist it, and she gave birth amongst the flames.”

“You…?” Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded silently at her unfinished question. “You were born in Summerhall” she murmured. 

Summerhall had been an important part in his life, the very place where he was born, ‘his place of peace’ he often called it.

There was something about it, some kind of mystic air that always ended up drawing him there, where he spent so many nights under the dark coat of the night and the bright stars, amongst those darkened ruins that often served him as inspiration to write songs. 

It was his place, he knew, a place he often visited alone. It was his. 

“It must be thrilling for you to be there” she let out, breathing slowly “Did you go often?” 

“Yes. I spent many nights there. It gave me serenity, you know?” 

Lyanna sat up, bending her knees and resting on her heels. “Then you should go again. What changed?” 

He smiled at her sudden occurrences, and grabbed her hand, stroking it gently “I can’t just leave for something like that. My father, he-“ 

Lyanna snorted, and she scowled deeply at him in disapproval. “Your father… And what about you?” she questioned, her expression a concerned one “You worry over everyone but yourself” she pointed out, bitting her lower lip after. 

“Lyanna” he called her softly once again, smiling at her and at her rough manner of showing that she cared.  

“It’s true.” she crossed her arms upon her chest, her lips pressed tightly against each other for a fleeting moment before her eyes softened warmly upon him “A few days of peace won’t hurt anyone, Rhaegar” she whispered, and one of her hands pushed his blonde locks back and off of his face, her sweetened gaze warming his very soul.  

“Lyanna” he pronounced her name, still amazed at himself for what he was about to propose to her, but still feeling the excitement of it.

She stroked his cheek softly. “Hmm?” 

“Would you like to accompany me to Summerhall?” the words pushed past his lips, clear and calmed and firm, and Rhaegar was there, looking at her, expectant for her reaction, feeling a mid grin forming on his lips when the surprise overcame her fair features.

Lyanna cupped his face with a soft hand, a warm smile on her face as she leaned down closer to him. “I’ll be delighted to do it” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you want to leave?” her brother’s voice filled the air, disappointment clear in it when the words left him.

She arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes, Oberyn. I have never been so humiliated before in my life.” she plainly said, without an ounce of regret or hate or anything like it, but rather in consternation. Because _how did all go so wrong?_

Her brother’s chuckle was irony stained, and his expression, even when his eyes seemed amused, a hint of danger touched them. Eyes of a viper, she knew. “Are you leaving King’s Landing to lick your wounds away in Dorne, then?” 

She frowned at the idea, and as much as it bothered her, Elia knew it to be true. She could not face the Targaryen Prince, she avoided him as if she could turn to dust if they encountered, and even if her physical being would not suffer such a fate if mentioned encounter happened, her pride would, indeed, become dust. And Lyanna Stark… _Oh, fuck._ That girl was younger than her, much younger, but she was also fierce, or at least she thought so when she saw her cold, clear stare _that_ day, throwing deadly, sharp daggers at her. _If looks could kill… I’d be a corpse._

And as fierce and _wild_ as she might appear, the northern beauty had thrown some kind of spell that had the Targaryen Prince in a tight leash, just and only for her. It was not fair, to be given such a man, and that, to top it all, the man had actually fallen in love with her.

But after the rejection, she saw that the ‘girl’ as she often called her, was in fact a beautiful, desirable woman. She had underestimated her, because of her apparent shy nature and her short age. Wether if she was acknowledging the facts now because of some unexpected strike of objectiveness, or in benefit of her smashed ego, she did not know. 

“Well, I will not stay here to share awkward moments of silence with Rhaegar and his beloved wife” she finished.

Oberyn smirked, his dimples carved on his face “You rushed things, sweet sister. Seduction has to be slow… Well, at least in this case”

She wanted to laugh at that. 

She threw her entire arsenal at Rhaegar Targaryen, and the man did not even bat a lash. And judging by his reaction and his _unexpected_ _faithfulness_ to his she-wolf, trying to seduce _him_ would be just as useless as trying to seduce a rock. 

“Believe me, brother. It wouldn’t have any effect on him anyway” she spat in resignation. 

“All men can be seduced, sister” he chuckled “You just don’t know how to do it. And, well… That’s disappointing, coming from a dornish-woman.”

“Oh, shut up… Is not that easy. Not with this one and his _unbelievable_ faithfulness to his wolf” 

“Ah… Enamored ones are difficult” Oberyn smirked. “But not impossible”

Elia only laughed softly in disbelief. In the end, it was better to laugh at her own situation than grieve over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cersei is going to be back in a few chapters. And for those who asked for a jealous Rhaegar, something else is coming, and is going to torment him lol his turn to suffer...
> 
> OH! somebody asked me to say who I would cast as Rhaegar.. And after searching for somebody handsome enough, well... I FOUND HIM!: http://66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0nh6cDeIn1r8byrro5_250.gif
> 
> Seriously, that guy is RIDICULOUSLY beautiful, somebody sue him please, omg D: well, that's how I imagine Rhaegar to be... Just give him long, blonde hair and there you go. 
> 
> I'm also excited because I began to write the first chapter of another story I will eventually publish... :D 
> 
> Hope you guys have a great week! Love you all.


	31. About Death, and Two Lives

“Ashara!” Lyanna almost shouted, hurrying her pace throughout the hallways when she caught a glimpse of the lady’s ebony black hair around the corner. Gods, those pretty, heeled shoes she had  were not made for running. 

Ashara turned around, the surprise in her violet eyes softening after meeting her. “Princess” she smiled lightly, bowing courteously in front of her. 

“I’ve been told you looked for me this morning” Lyanna said.

Ashara’s lips parted in small surprise, her dark brows lifting up high “Yes, yes…” the dark haired woman paused for a moment, a small hint of confusion on her lovely face, or at least that was what Lyanna suspected “But they told me you were…” the lady struggled for a brief time to find the word she needed. “Busy"

Lyanna repressed a nervous chuckle immediately when recalling her early morning, and the delights of it. Of course, it was only natural for husband and wife to sleep together, but the fact that the an entire castle knew her every move did not help to her awkwardness. “No, I was not in my chambers” she limited herself to say, lowering her gaze for a moment “But we can speak now” she cheerfully claimed. _Too cheerful Lyanna. Too cheerful._  

“Perfect!” the lady exclaimed, and maybe she was not the only one being over-excited. What was going on? “But we should do it in a more private place” Ashara gave her a secretive gaze that she caught quickly “Do you mind if we go to my chambers?” the lady offered. 

Lyanna followed her to the maidenvault, grabbing her skirts with both hands so she could walk faster. Oh, how she missed her breeches and her riding boots.

Once inside, Lady Ashara locked her doors, and invited her to sit down on her bed, positioning herself right in front of her. Even if Lyanna felt slightly excited before, because of the whole secretive atmosphere of the situation, the serious look on the beautiful Ashara Dayne’s face was starting to infect her with concern as well. Should she be concerned?  

“Is everything alright?” Lyanna questioned, trying to decipher the reason behind the sudden quietness in Ashara. 

She looked uncomfortable, and her lips parted as if there was something trying to push past them, but nothing came out. Ashara tried again, and this time, she succeeded. “I needed to tell you something” her dazzling violet eyes were then upon her.

“Yes?” she smiled lightly, encouraging the lady in front of her to say what was on her mind. 

“It’s about Elia Martell” 

When that name filled the air, Lyanna’s breathing stopped for a second, and her bloodstream suddenly felt cold. She felt her expression hardening on her face involuntarily, and how could it not? 

The beautiful Dayne lady quickly noticed her reaction, and her eyes became shy, almost apologetic, as if she already knew that the simple mention of that name felt like adding salt to a wound. “Just go on” Lyanna heard her voice low, almost as a whisper ghosting out of her lips. Whatever she was about to hear, she was brave enough to hear it. 

“I do not want to interfere in your personal matters, Princess” the lady’s voice was soft, and she bit her lip before speaking again “But This is of great importance. Something you should know” Lyanna, in the middle of the chaos that took over her mind, and feeling a strange fear, like a little sting on her chest, made a mid smile, a joyless one, but one that encouraged her to keep going. “She… She spoke to me. Elia. She told me about something she did, about what happened a few days ago with the Prince and…” Ashara stopped, as if she was analyzing the Princess’ features carefully before continuing.

Lyanna pressed her lips together, and once again, her breathing stopped, and her hands clenched tightly. The truth was, she felt herself panicking under that fragile mask she put on the moment the name of ‘Elia Martell’ was brought. For some reason, the simple mention of the woman made her nervous, as if something could go wrong or as if something could be said that would hurt her or break her. But despite that sickening fear -what if everything was a lie, after all?- she just listened carefully.

“She told me she tried to seduce the Prince, that she approached him because she thought he would _like_ her… But that things did not go as she planned, and that it all ended up in an embarrassing situation for her, a failure, because… Well, he was _not_ interested in her. And he made it _clear_. He truly did” 

She knew. She knew the truth, that fragile, glass like truth. But hearing Ashara… It was relieving. To know that she did not made a mistake by trusting him. It felt reassuring, and the thin layer of apprehension that could’ve been there before faded. 

Listening such a thing from a third person, well… It made everything more real, everything. The images in her head, Rhaegar’s stubbornness when trying to explain to her -And Gods, she was stubborn too-, the pain, and ultimately, the realization. 

She struggled to emit any sound, victorious at the very end. “I… I know. Rhaegar explained, he… ” she managed to say, aware that she probably sounded like a babbling mess in the silence of that room “Thank you, Ashara. This means so much to me” she squeezed Ashara’s hand in hers “You are a true friend”

Ashara smiled fondly, and closed her eyes before denying slightly with her head.

“I appreciate Elia, truly… But I also have great affection for you, Princess. And I thought you needed to know.” 

A moment of silence took over, one in which Lyanna realized how odd it all felt. It was strange, truly… She had never been a very social creature herself, much less around ladies. It was probably her wild manners or her reckless tongue, also, her short temper did not help. But it was the first time in ages since she could feel that way towards somebody just like her. Was Ashara Dayne her first female friend? 

Of course, she loved the Queen, but it felt different. With the Queen, she felt some kind of motherly affection, one that soothed her soul and eased her rowdy being. Just like she imagined her mother would do it.

“There’s also something else” the dark haired beauty lowered her gaze.

“Yes?”

“I’m leaving the Capital, Princess. I’m going back to Starfall.”

“Why? What?”

Ashara’s smile, it was as sour as it was beautiful. The light air of sadness that surrounded her was too much for Lyanna to ignore, her nosey nature peeking was through her, but against her first impulse of demanding an explanation, she waited.  “I can’t stay here any longer”  were the quiet words of the dark haired beauty, resignation in every spoken word.

“Why not? Ashara, is everything okay?” 

She wondered if she was being indiscreet, Ashara Dayne could do as she pleased, but… 

The olive skinned woman stood quiet, not a single word said, but a faint gleam in her eyes, one Lyanna knew as the beginning of unwanted tears threatening to fall. 

“Gods, what is wrong, Ashara? You can trust me, I promise” 

She could, she truly could trust her. Wether if she wanted to or not, was another matter. 

Never before, she saw Ashara Dayne in such a vulnerable state. She was usually proud, with a sharp gaze and a witty talk that could simply intimidate anyone in her way. What could make her cry? The worst case scenario thundered across Lyanna’s mind, and she felt simply terrified to find out that maybe, what Arthur’s sister was going through, was no simple thing. _What if she’s ill?_

“Is just… I’m with child. I can’t stay here, it would not be proper to stay as your lady in waiting in such a condition. It would not be right” Ashara lowered her gaze, shame peeking through her illuminated amethysts.

For a moment, everything stopped, and realization soon enough appeared. 

“Is it Brandon’s?” she limited herself to ask.

Ashara’s cheeks were dusted in soft pink, a faint yet clear confirmation of her suspects. 

Never before in her entire life she had wanted more to have Brandon in front of her, to tell him how much of an ass he was. Had he even thought something like that could happen? Gods, she warned him. She warned him not to do it. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be indiscreet, I…”

“It’s fine” she wiped her own tears softly “That’s why I must leave, Your Highness. I’m sure you understand now”

“Wait, wait… Answer me something”

Maybe the idea would sound even crazier than it sounded within her head once she let it out, maybe not. Brandon was no longer there, he ran away to find what he wanted in life, he left everything and everyone, leaving no trace behind. He just faded. There was probably no consolation for a mother that would have to raise her child alone, and Gods, Ashara was a brave woman, Lyanna had heard of the infamous ‘Moon Tea’ so many times before… And Ashara Dayne had picked the difficult path for a woman. But also the right one. Brandon left, he faded, but she was there, and she was a Stark, and the child growing within the Dayne lady was her blood too, not only Brandon’s.  

“Yes?” she blinked in confusion.

“Is it your wish to leave? Please, be sincere with me” Lyanna begged, holding Ashara’s hand in hers.

The shock was evident in her fair features, and it looked like she was choking on the words. Did she really want to leave? “I don’t know” 

“Then, think about it.” Lyanna squeezed her hand gently, as if the simple gesture could transmit some of her emotions “If you want to leave, you are free to leave. But if you wish to stay, you stay. It would be a great joy for me, to have a Stark so close” a warm feeling spread through her chest when the words were spoken out loud. A small part of her family could be with her. “I can’t bring my brother back to King’s Landing, only the Gods know of his whereabouts.” she sighed in resignation “But I will make sure that this child is given everything him or her deserves, if you let me. Wether you chose to leave or to stay”

A single tear stained the beautiful golden face of Ashara Dayne, and a light smile that enlightened her expression was what gave Lyanna a small hope. “Thank you, Princess. I will… I will think about it”

“You have naught to thank me for. And I apologize in my brother’s name. The Gods know Brandon had always been a reckless fool.”

“No, please. Don’t. I don’t mind. I’m not crying because I have to carry a child alone. I’m crying because…” Ashara sighed heavily, her lips pressing tightly against each other, forming a thin line.

 _Because…_  

Nothing was ever easy, and nothing was ever perfect. Not even love.

“Because you love him” Lyanna’s voice was a soft whisper, one that could easily be carried away by the wind, one that could not hurt the woman even more.

So when Ashara’s melancholic smile was all she got as a silent response, a small part of her heart ached in sadness. 

“Everything will be alright, you know?” 

Ashara smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

His nose wrinkled when the smell hit him, it was always the same, always. The same smell of burnt flesh, intoxicating and nauseating, the blackness of the smoke misting grimly through every small part of the room, as the pale, lilac eyes of the _Mad_ King gleamed in excitement while the screams were slowly suffocated by only the deafening noise of the wood cracking in the wildfire.  

It never stopped, and it always sent chills across his spine, no matter how many times he witnessed it.

In moments like that one, he wanted to laugh so hard at how naive and stupid he once was, at how he imagined his life as a knight. _Illusions of a stupid boy._ Certainly, standing behind a mad King and watch him enjoy while his own people was being burned alive, was not what he expected. 

It was only after his first week in the service of King Aerys that Jaime understood. It was only then when he realized that he was _not_ going to have the life he thought he would, that he would _not_ have honorable tasks -The first time he despised his knighthood, was the night in which he heard the Queen’s desperate cries within the royal chambers-. Those cries often haunted him at night, along with the Queen’s broken gaze.

“Rossart! The next ones!” he heard the fragile King’s husky voice, loud and gruff and demanding, and the pyromancer, the one that looked old and creepy, maybe even more than Aerys himself, nodded in obedience. 

In moments like that, when the eyes of those present in the room darkened with fear, he thanked the Gods for keeping Cersei away from that sickening place. Or maybe he should thank their father? Keeping Cersei away from King’s Landing, to deny her whim, was probably not an easy task. 

Ah, Cersei. She thought Court was the place for her, she thought she deserved the admiration and respect of everyone, she thought she deserved Lyanna Stark’s crown and Rhaegar Targaryen’s last name, all because of her beauty and her social position. And she probably did. She was worthy of it all, he knew. But he only found joy in his sister’s misery… The only desire of hers that he would be opposed to.

He smiled and promised her he would never do something like that when he heard her say that she wished he never married, because he was hers, he felt floating in the air when she kissed him for the first time, saying that it was ‘just to try’ and he agreed without knowing that later on, she would be his obsession. He celebrated _with_ her when he was knighted and gave his life to an oath and not to another woman. But what Cersei wanted the most, he could not stand, he could not enjoy with her.

She wanted the heir to the throne, a fine man, an honorable one. One that not even _he_ could hate, but rather admire. And if things would’ve gone like their father planned, Cersei would’ve gotten her Silver Prince, and he… He would’ve been the one guarding their chambers’ doors and listening as his sister fucked him every night. 

Had he ever been so grateful for the King’s madness and rejection towards his family? No.

The next group of prisoners came in, tearing his thoughts apart with the sound of the chains against the marble, and as if they already knew what was going to happen to them, he watched them whispering desperate prayers as they were being tied to the pyres before the pitiful eyes of noble ladies and lords, and of course, Aerys’ excited ones.

Looking at Aerys, he wanted to cry at the irony of the situation. The King was not an extremely old man, but he looked like one. His body was sickly thin, it looked so fragile… It would probably be very easy to just plunge his sword in his stomach, or even cut his neck, quick and clean. It’d all be over with just one sharp blow of a sword. Even one of the prisoners could do it. The most powerful man in the Kingdom was nothing but a bag of skin and fragile bones.

When he looked again, focusing his sight on what was in front of him, he saw horror and desperation and… In a fraction of second, once again, green flames began to storm under their feet, and it wasn’t long before the screams filled the air as the flames consumed their bodies, slowly, painfully. 

Even if he heard them everyday, even so… It did not lessen the ache in his soul and the strength with which his fists were clenched. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

She was standing quietly in the balcony of the Queen’s chambers, the silence was heavenly, even when she would normally prefer the sound of a horse’s hooves against the dry ground, she could not deny the beauty of it all. So when she felt his arms surrounding her waist and his chin resting lazily on her shoulder from one moment to another, she jerked at the sudden touch, realizing seconds later it was _him_. She could only giggle when some strands of his blonde hair tickled her neck graciously, caressing her skin lightly in a feather-like touch.

“You know, it is rude to approach someone like that” she turned her head to look at him. His dark eyes seemed lost somewhere in the clear sky in front of them.

“I thought my wife had ‘unlady-like’ manners and that she did not care” he hummed in the crook of her neck before pecking it softly. 

“Yes, but your wife also has a fierce fist for those who scare her” she chuckled lightly at the touch.

“Did I scare you?” he faked seriousness.

She laughed softly, with her hands stroking the strong arms that surrounded her waist delicately. “Not at all.” she said “But your pretty face could’ve suffer if my senses were not as sharp as they are” she jested.

He chuckled against her ear, the iron tones of his pleasing voice dancing near her skin, producing goosebumps along her pale arms. “I shall be more careful then” he whispered.

“Hmmm… Or maybe not” Lyanna smiled, throwing her head back on his chest, aspiring his scent as her eyes encountered his dark ones.

“Or maybe not” he repeated before planting a soft, gentle kiss on her forehead. 

The sound of light footsteps behind them broke the moment, but also saved her from drowning in those dark pools of his. When they turned, the little Prince Viserys was standing right in front of them, with big questioning eyes and a little smile in his tender face. A few footsteps away, the beautiful, porcelain like Targaryen Queen was smiling fondly at them, admiring the scene in silence. She wondered if she witnessed everything. 

“Mother” Rhaegar’s iron voice floated in the air, gaining the Queen’s attention immediately.

“Son. Lyanna” she greeted “Sorry that I kept you waiting” Rhaella smiled tenderly at them.

“How have you been, mother?” Rhaegar asked, surrounding Lyanna’s small waist with an arm. 

Rhaella approached graciously, a sweet grin painted delicately on her lips as she cupped her son’s face with a hand in a sweet display of affection “Excellent” her silky voice rang, and her eyes turned to Lyanna as she grabbed her hand softly in hers. “And I see that you two are more than well too” the Queen observed happily. “Please, take a seat” she invited.

As they seated, Viserys ran across the room with a small wooden horse in his hands, making noises that imitated a horse’s pace. 

She felt Rhaegar’s hand upon hers, and she intertwined her fingers with his. 

“I heard about your brother’s wedding” Rhaella quietly said with her hands folded upon her lap. Her eyes travelled from her little son to her older one with infinite fondness, and they stopped for a brief moment in their interlocked hands. Lyanna swore that, in that brief moment, her smile became even warmer. 

“Yes, Ned is getting married” Lyanna confirmed, getting out of her temporal trance “Will you attend?” 

The Queen lowered her crystal gaze, a vague, resigned grin adorned her lips as she spoke. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to, sweet Lyanna”

It was no surprise, of course. It was a shame, truly, that such a lovely creature would not be with them to celebrate her brother’s wedding. But she knew even before she asked. 

“My family and I, we would’ve loved to have you there” she sincerely said, the disappointment stretching in every word.

“And I would’ve been delighted to attend, my sweet. But I’m afraid the King is rather inflexible about Viserys and me leaving the Keep” the Queen’s gaze went to his younger son “Specially now”

Lyanna felt Rhaegar’s hold on her hand tightening slightly. His factions were there, harmonic and sharp as usual, but she quickly recognized the small twitch he made with the corner of his mouth the moment she saw it.  “Is everything alright?” he asked, concealing his concern with his cool tone.

“Yes, yes, my son. You have naught to worry about” she sighed “Your father won't let me and Viserys leave, because I am with child” 

At such a simple sentence, Lyanna’s jaw dropped, and Rhaella gave her a look of confirmation. When she turned, Rhaegar seemed just as startled as she was, with his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It was soon enough that, he stood up and kneeled in front of his mother, releasing Lyanna's hand only to embrace his mother in a warm hug that the Queen immediately returned, caressing her son’s hair softly. 

The small noises Viserys made in the background, the heart warming scene displayed in front of her of mother and son's affection… It was perfect. It seemed perfect. Everything felt so right and peaceful. 

When the Queen’s gaze encountered hers, and she extended one of her delicate hands as an invitation, Lyanna stepped forward and joined them, laughing softly along her husband and Rhaella. 

Why couldn’t she freeze time in that exact moment? 

 

 


	32. Summerhall Ghosts

“The bruise shall fade quickly, Your Grace” the young girl told her softly as her thumb massaged around the outer edge of the lilac bruise that stained the white skin of her arm notoriously, like a drop of ink in a white canvas. 

The girl massaged her skin softly for a few more seconds before applying a wet, warm cloth upon it  carefully, her big brown eyes focused on what she was doing, and with one last light pressure applied on her arm, she left the cloth there. The young girl smiled kindly at Rhaella, but the pity in her round, big eyes did not match such an expression, she realized. “It does not matter right now, Yara” 

Yara nodded lightly, no questions, no gazes, only one sentence “Aye. The Prince would’ve been displeased, Your Grace” she observed. 

‘Displeased’, she said, disguising the true meaning. 

Rhaegar, if he were not as smart as he was, her beloved son would’ve lost his head a long time ago by a royal command, that thought had tormented her for the last years. The anger and the sadness imprinted in those deep, dark eyes whenever they landed on one of Aerys’ marks on her skin never failed to break her heart, never failed to hurt her like shattered glass. She could only pray, pray for his son not to fall victim -yes, _victim-_ of his own ire, but also pray that the Gods would hear her. Because praying for Aerys’ mental health was a long forgotten idea, one that never worked and a prayer that was certainly never heard. 

“Yes, he would” she replied plainly, her unfocused sight lost somewhere in the room “I can only feel at ease when he’s away from here. Even if I miss him terribly”

“I’m sure he’s missing you too right now” the young girl commented. 

Rhaella felt a smile adorning her lips, imagining her son going to his beloved ruins one more time, but this time, accompanied by his lovely wife, that girl with a genuine smile and sweet hazel eyes. She just wanted to laugh out of happiness. He _loved_ her, he had to… He never took anyone with him before to Summerhall, ever. He certainly never looked at anyone the way he looked at Lyanna Stark before either, as if he was drunk in love and as if he were ready to take an arrow for her anytime. No, not even in those years of rowdy adolescence. 

Maybe, just maybe, that was something she had to thank Aerys for. Even if it was involuntary, her brother-husband brought great happiness to their son’s life when ordering him to bring the beautiful Lyanna Stark to the Capital, that girl that ignited her son with life. “I just hope he’s enjoying his time away with his wife” _Away from this place that torments you, my son._

Rhaella looked down at some other dark spots on her skin, lighter ones, the ones that were fading already. She stroked her belly softly, carefully, as if the tiny babe growing within her was made of glass. At least Aerys would not touch a single hair of hers again, until the babe was born… Or at least until she spilled the lifeless babe and the blood all over the floor once again, like she did so many times before. Her fist clenched upon her belly when her thoughts acquired a dark tint.

Would she resist it one more time? Because every loss, every lifeless, tiny body, always left her feeling emptier and emptier each time, as if they took a little part of her every single time.

Empty. Empty enough to just want to turn her flesh into ash and leave that world in the form of smoke. Or at least so she thought a couple of years ago, when Rhaegar’s sad gaze was too much to look at, when Aerys’ cruelty towards her became too much to bear, when the death poisoning her womb had finally taken it’s toll in her. 

But what kind of terrible mother would leave her then only son alone in that wrecked place? That was what convinced her to stay alive, no matter how broken -or how empty. And sometimes she liked to think that Viserys’ birth and Rhaegar’s well being was her reward for it. She could not ask for anything else. Until then, until she found out another life was hanging tenuously from a thin thread of her own. 

“Are you feeling well, Your Grace?” Yara’s raspy voice rang around her, the girl’s concerned stare fell to Rhaella’s middle, where her hand rested clenched in a tight fist. 

The Queen relaxed her hand instantly at the neutral sound of Yara’s voice, taking a deep breath in the process. “Yes, yes, Yara. I just need to rest” 

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Your Grace?” 

“Sure”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even with the wind on her face, she felt her skin hot and sweaty under the sun, and even if she could not see herself, she knew her cheeks were probably stained in that crimson tone that she hated so much and that her skin was probably slightly darker from riding under the hot sun for days and days. She could only thank her past self for deciding to braid her hair that day instead of leaving it free as she always did when some wild strands adhered to her sweaty skin. Gods, the humidity of the place was going to be the death of her.  

But when her boots touched the green ground and the mystic image of Summerhall rose in front of her, her jaw dropped slightly at the surreal mirage painted by the orange and lilac tones of the sunset. 

Spinel snorted next to her, and she numbly stroked the horse’s nose while still dazzled by the place’s regal beauty. It was fair to say that, she had never imagined Summerhall to be like that. 

The once white stones were blackened in parts by the sturdy flames that consumed the castle many years ago, and green threads and leafs covered what was left of the ruins, claiming them as a part of the vivid nature that surrounded her. In front of the imposing, ruined castle, a lake of clear waters mirrored the ethereal image displayed in front of her. As a part of it’s spell, Lyanna assumed, some kind of faint melancholy seemed to be prowling the surroundings, making her feel instantly touched by it.

So much beauty, yet so much disgrace in one single place. 

“This is beautiful” she whispered lowly, feeling a small breath peeking through her lips. Suddenly, the heat and the humidity that enveloped her were long forgotten, and only the amazement and the curiosity remained.

“It is” she heard Rhaegar’s voice near her.

She saw him tying his destrier’s reins, and behind him, Ser Arthur followed, ready to prepare the tents for the night that was falling upon them. 

Even when she would usually offer her help, that particular time, she chose to use the ‘advantages’ of being a lady, and decided that a small walk around the place seemed like a good idea, even when she stumbled on a rock and almost fell as soon as she walked towards it. “Fuck!” she cursed lowly, hoping nobody saw her displaying her lack of balance in that very moment. “Don’t go far, please. It’s getting dark” Rhaegar had asked her from afar and she agreed, taking her walk then _cautiously_ among the ruins and small, shiny fireflies that floated around her. 

She touched the blackened stones, feeling the raspy texture under her skin, imagining how hot and  devastating the fire must’ve been back then, and in the back of her mind, shiny orange flames were reflected on the surface of the lake, consuming everything and everyone around, embracing the stones intensely. But instead, all there was, was the already darkened sky and the gleam of the stars painted on the calmed waters, and those small fireflies dancing around her, and…

When what seemed to be a thin, long haired, blurry figure reflected on those waters, she jerked back and immediately directed her sight to the spot next to her, where she could swear she saw something, _someone,_ standing next to her.

Nothing. Nothing more than the stones and the stars and the leafs moving with every soft whistle of the wind. No trace of the figure she fancied she saw.

Still perplexed, and thinking that maybe the tiredness of the travel was toying with her mind, she looked down. A small, lilac flower lied between the stones, plucked from wherever it belonged. Lyanna bent over and took the small flower between her fingers, a sweet, yet light smell hit her.

She put the flower back in the ground, and took one last look around before walking back to where Rhaegar and Arthur were waiting for her. She was definitely too tired.

When she got back, the tents were already set, and a vivid bonfire was enlightening everything around, Rhaegar and Arthur were already sitting around it.

“You’re back” Rhaegar’s velvet like voice floated in the air.

He was sitting near the bonfire, with Arthur seating a few steps away from him, sharpening Dawn with a rock, throwing a quick glance at her before going back to his sword.

“Yes, I was just prying around” she replied, sitting next to Rhaegar. 

“I know, I saw you” he smiled, his forearms resting on his knees lazily. 

“Were you spying on me?” Lyanna teased, pushing his knee with hers. 

“Yes” he grinned, showing off his perfectly aligned teeth in a smile that made her bite her lip.

A quick thought crossed her mind, maybe he had seen the blurry figure next to her too, maybe she should ask him… But the thought fade away soon enough, finding it utterly stupid. “Did you bring your harp?” she asked instead, hoping he had so she could hear him pluck sweet notes from the strings once again, after a long time. Rhaegar nodded, and Arthur passed him the silver instrument that was lying behind him. “You’re encouraging him” Arthur smirked “Seems like another lady has fallen for your songs, my friend” he laughed.

“Oh, shut up, Arthur” she threw him a death glare that apparently, instead of shushing him, only made him chuckle. 

“What shall I play for you?” Rhaegar asked to both Lyanna and Arthur, ignoring the childish visual battle they were having.

“Jenny of Oldstones seems like a good fit” Arthur proposed, and Lyanna agreed, thinking of the famous ‘Jenny of Oldstones with the flowers in her hair’ and ignoring any past suggestion she could’ve had not to encourage Arthur to keep mocking her “You know the story, don’t you, Lyanna?” Arthur asked without the annoying mockery in his lilac eyes, and she nodded.

The story of Jenny of Oldstones, the wife of the Prince of Dragonflies. But she just knew what everyone else knew, nothing more. Gods, there were so manny songs written about her, it was impossible not to know. But she always wondered if there was something more in her story.

“Just what everyone knows about her” Lyanna simply replied when the strings of Rhaegar’s harp began to produce the beautiful melody. “That Prince Duncan loved her so much that he married her against his father’s wishes, and lost his rights to the throne for her” 

“He did. He even left Lord Lyonel Baratheon’s daughter to be with her.” Rhaegar spoke with the pleasing melody in the background, his eyes focused on the strings of the harp between his hands, his fingers plucking them smoothly “Jenny was also friends with the woods witch that prophesied about the prince that was promised” he added, a smile crossing his face.

“The Prince that was promised? What’s that about?” she found herself asking in the middle of her ignorance on the matter.

“Is the reason why our friend here, decided to become a knight” Arthur answered, and Rhaegar’s smile widened, as if remembering something, instantly making her curious. 

He looked at her from his place, and when the amusement enlightened his indigo eyes, Lyanna knew Rhaegar became aware of the curiosity within her “The witch said that the prince that was promised, a _savior_ , would be born from the line of my mother and father” Rhaegar explained “That’s why my grandfather arranged the marriage between them” he frowned a little at the mention of his parents’ union. _And how could he not._ “I read about the prophecy when I was very young in one of my scrolls. It fascinated me, everything about it… And the idea of saving the world” he said, and Lyanna wondered if it was also the idea of saving his own mother. Was Aerys already mad back then? “After that, I decided that I had to become a warrior so I could be the prince that was promised” he explained vaguely, the shadow of a smile still on his face, and it looked as if he could see his younger self in the flames behind his harp when speaking. 

“‘I will require a sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior’ he said back then” Arthur added, sharing a camaraderie look with him. 

She rose her eyebrows, thinking that, if that prophecy were to be true, he could pretty much fit a prince that was promised. With his flawless ways and his sharp mind and that damned perfection with which he achieved things, she could not think of a better candidate. If there was a promised prince, he had to be it. 

She could’ve thought more about it, but the velvety voice of her husband swept the thoughts away smoothly, leaving only room for the lyrics of the famous song he began to sing and the iron tones of his voice that sounded so so _good_ floating in the air, and that could transport her to the good days of Summerhall, imagining Prince Duncan and his beloved Jenny there, in the glory of such a place. The whole scenario was slightly surreal, from the mystical beauty of the ruins of Summerhall, to the soft melody of Jenny’s song with the flowers in her hair, it could all be easily mistaken with some kind of dream that could actually make her weep. 

The magic of Summerhall was evident, and only then Lyanna could understand the fascination her Silver Prince had for the place and its loneliness, the very place where he was born amidst the ashes. 

The late night enveloped them soon, between jests and songs and stories of each, the relaxed atmosphere and the lightness of it made Lyanna lament silently at the fact that it would only last for three nights before they got back on the road towards Riverrun. It was not that the idea of seeing her brothers and father again did not appealed to her, on the contrary, she was dying to see them. She even thought herself lucky, she had seen them more than she ever thought she would, and it gave her great joy. But she knew that there would be no place like Summerhall, in which the air was pure and where there wasn’t anyone to judge or watch her every step, and where she could just _be_ , and Rhaegar and Arthur too. She would gladly exchange the Red Keep for a place like that. 

She laid her head on Rhaegar’s shoulder, and let her sight be lost in the flames in front of her. 

“You look awful” Rhaegar said to Arthur while Lyanna played with his calloused fingers. 

“Well, you ain’t no epitome of beauty yourself either” Arthur responded, and Lyanna mentally opposed to Arthur’s jesting response. 

“You should rest” Rhaegar suggested

“I’m fine” the knight denied with his head, even when the dark circles on his eyes said the opposite. 

“Arthur, just go and sleep. We’ll survive without you for a few hours” 

The knight snorted in pretended indignation, throwing a quick grateful look at his friend before getting up “Fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone” he smiled before disappearing into his tent. 

It was just the two of them alone then, she realized, with a sting of mischievousness in her. “What about us?” Lyanna raised her gaze up to him, gaining a questioning look from Rhaegar.

“You want to sleep?” he questioned her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Not exactly” she whispered before depositing a soft kiss on his lips and placing her hand on his leg, running it up and down slowly.

His eyes narrowed in realization, a spark of something she knew pretty well made her excitement grow. “Arthur’s right next to us” he murmured against her lips, and his breath brushed her skin in a delicious way. 

“He’s asleep” she smirked before bitting his lower lips softly.

“Yes, he’s asleep. But he’s a light sleeper and he’ll be up the second he hears us making any suspicious noise” 

Lyanna sighed in defeat, aware that her fire would not be appeased so easily, and aware that she would have to contain herself unless she wanted to be heard by the Kingsguard while making love with her husband. 

“Fine” she finally said, and when he smirked in amusement, she just wanted to snatch his lips with hers and… “Let’s just sleep then”  

He agreed, and even with that gleam of lust in his eyes that betrayed him, his smile was of pure satisfaction to know how much she wanted him. 

Inside the tent, she resisted the urge of undressing him and she suspected he did too, by the way his dark eyes avoided her bare body insistently when changing clothes. If she insisted a little more, he would’ve probably surrendered to his carnal wishes, she could tell that with a simple glare at him, but to think of Arthur Dayne listening to their coupling was a decisive factor there. 

So, instead of letting her hands wander upon his hardened chest and below as she would’ve liked, she simply lied next to him and concentrated on his breathing and the way he kissed the top of her head before sighing in repressed desire, just as she did. Gods, she wanted him so badly right there and then. “Goods night” she simply said. “Good night, love” he replied.

When his arms surrounded her, she laid her head on his chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat, slowing it’s pace gradually. 

Minutes of silence later, it was probably the slow pace of the air coming in and out of his lungs what relaxed her to the point of feeling her eyelids heavy, and soon enough, everything was dark and forgotten in the back of her mind. 

She found herself in the daylight in the blink of an eye, but what was stranger, in front of a beautiful and undamaged Summerhall, rising in all it’s glory. 

The day was brighter than any day she had ever seen, it was magnificent. She looked around and she found herself alone in that place. She took a few steps forward, curiosity and expectation filling her with every step she took. 

She walked among the tall, white pillars, with the sunlight that filtrated through the crystals of the windows kissing her white skin. The castle seemed empty, and only her footsteps could be heard amongst the walls of the building. “Hello?” she said and her voice resonated in every corner of the castle, the light suddenly seemed even brighter. 

She stopped her pace to take a look around, but only white walls and marble floors and sun rays presented in front of her. But when she turned again, she saw a glimpse of honey blonde hair around the corner, and the scent of flowers in the air danced on her nostrils. “Wait!” she inexplicably shouted as she saw the girl in the white dress walking slowly in a hallway. But no matter how fast Lyanna walked, she never reached her. 

The girl stopped after a while, and when she turned, her dark, green eyes -the saddest eyes she had ever seen- landed on her, and her thin brows furrowed in a sad grimace that only transmitted _doom_. 

She felt like she had a thousand questions rising in her head, but none came out of her mouth, it was as if she was petrified by the girl’s mesmerizing presence. 

Only then, she realized she had flowers in her hair, lilac and white flowers. The realization that hit her lasted only a few seconds, because instants later, ferocious flames began to consume everything around her. She looked at the girl in despair, and she spoke to her, or at least so she thought, no sound came out of her mouth but she could clearly read the word in her lips. ‘ _Run_ ’.

And she did. Lyanna ran among the fire and the smoke, and it felt like something was chasing her all of the sudden, but whenever she turned, there was nobody behind her, only the sensation of great danger running behind her in the form of a huge shadow that threatened to catch her. 

Lyanna kept running, breathlessly, her legs ached and her body felt heavier, her lungs were filled with the smoke and her eyes itched, but she never stopped.

When she finally reached the doors that would lead her outside, they wouldn’t open, not even when she tried to kick them. Soon after, the flames surrounded her and the heat was too much to bear, and all she could see was smoke and blazing flames, and amongst them, the girl with her dark, green eyes looking straight at her. Her skin was melting in the fire along with her dress, and even when her body was being brutally consumed by the flames, she never moved.

Lyanna opened her eyes and every bright image was ripped apart, she felt her heart beating furiously, and a little drop of sweat rolling down her neck as she sat up trying to calm her breathing down. There was no daylight, no flames, only darkness and the sound of Rhaegar’s peaceful breathing. But when she directed her gaze at Rhaegar, her heart froze at the image of the very same girl that appeared in her dream. 

Kneeling next to Rhaegar, with her blonde hair down, the flowers adorning it graciously, and her sad, ghostly eyes upon him, Jenny of Oldstones smiled at him sadly. One of her hands stroked his cheek smoothly, only to push a blonde lock of hair off of his face after. _This is a dream. It has to be._ She thought with terror in her chest.

Lyanna’s heart was beating furiously again, and she quickly felt every single hair of her body stiffening with the shivers. 

The girl’s gaze found Lyanna’s, and when her sad eyes landed on her, she could read a warning in them. _“Be careful”_ she heard her smooth voice, but Jenny’s lips never moved. 

After a blink, Jenny was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make it longer, but I didn't have the time. 
> 
> Oh, there are just a few chapters left until things start to get messy! 
> 
> About this chapter, well, I read about Jenny a while ago and her story is so mysterious I instantly felt attracted to it, even if I know practically NOTHING about her. The idea of bringing her as a ghost, well.. I have to say I've been watching American Horror Story again (season 1) xD... Anyway, I hope we can learn more about her in the future, she seems like a very interesting character.


	33. The Dragon's Anger

The days that followed to what she supposed was a bloodcurdling encounter with a ghost, Jenny’s ghost, were unconcerned and relaxed, even with the thought of _her_ peeking around the corner at all times. With no one around but her, Arthur and Rhaegar, there was nothing to worry about, nor people to please with courtesies she still found unnecessary, nor the Mad King and his incoherent whims. It was only them, and it tasted like freedom. 

The days went by quickly, maybe _too_ quickly for her liking, and how could they not? There, Lyanna fancied she was just and only a simple girl, a girl of the small folk perhaps? Running around the forest, riding whenever she pleased, making silly and sometimes even inappropriate jokes with Arthur and Rhaegar. Life could be simple, simple and filled with happiness with so little. 

Still, at nights, when it was quiet and there was nothing but the song of the frogs outside the tent she shared with Rhaegar, and the heavy darkness surrounded them, when he was too deep into his sleep to keep her company, she could not deny that her skin bristled at the thought of Jenny of Oldstones and her _very_ alive ghost looking at her with those sad, green eyes. Because after all, how could she forget?

She had not said anything to Rhaegar, nor Arthur, and not one of them mentioned a single word about a blonde haired girl with flowers in her hair in all of those days, which could only mean one thing: she had been the only one to actually _see_ her.

Even if at nights she wondered if Jenny was going to show up again, she gradually lost the fear. Could she call it fear anyway? Probably not, or at least, not anymore. But some kind of nervousness took over her whenever she remembered that dream, with the flames and the frightening shadow following her, and the sad eyes of Jenny upon Rhaegar when she woke up and saw her there. In the third night in Summerhall, she found herself wishing the ghost appeared again in front of her, if anything, to ask her what the meaning of it was and try to understand those thoughts that had been steeling hours of sleep from her. But it never happened. And in the fifth day, they left and began their journey to Riverrun, and said farewell to Summerhall, encountering the royal party that was waiting for them somewhere in the Kingsroad, near Harrenhal.

It was hard to say goodbye to such a place, and even worst, it was hard to stay with the intrigue, knowing that she would probably never understand the meaning of the events that occurred during her first night at Summerhall. At least, the feeling of yearning and the strange homesickness that leaving Summerhall produced her, were soothed by the idea of Ned and her father. She knew that was probably the last time in a long while she would see them, she had been lucky enough to have them near her more than she ever expected.

While in the road, even if the idea of traveling on a ‘golden cage’, as she called it when Rhaegar proposed the idea, didn’t appeal to her, she accepted. Not because it was more comfortable than riding Spinel or because she wanted to gossip with her ladies-in-waiting -she truly found them amusing at times, and even grew to like them, but she did not share their likeness for gossiping about other people’s business-, but because she thought of Ned and Cat and how it was expected of her to show up just as regal and elegant as her royal husband. 

In the end, Lyanna ended up stripped off of her comfortable riding clothing, and in a southron dress, one of a deep emerald color that had her feeling like her lungs could be deflated at any time. There was no human way of riding Spinel in that _thing_ anyway. At least her father and brother would be pleased to see her dressed like a true Princess when they finally arrived. But in the meanwhile, she had to be content with the sight of the Riverlands stretching through the wheelhouse’s window, and Spinel galloping free of a rider, after Rhaegar and Blackfyre. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

When the door of the carriage opened and the stone walls of Riverrun towered in front of them, she resisted the urge to fleet the carriage and throw herself in the arms of her father and brother. Instead, she delicately accepted Rhaegar’s hand and stepped off of her ‘golden cage’, walking in the middle of a silent crowd that bowed down to them, her eyes fixed straight at the end of it as an arrow, where Lady Catelyn, Ned, her father and… _Benjen?!_ were standing, and next to them, the man she supposed was Hoster Tully, and Catelyn’s siblings. 

Before the hungry eyes of the nobles present, she untangled her arm from Rhaegar’s, not before giving him a small smile that he returned instantly. 

Lord Hoster Tully stood before them, with a wide grin in his reddened face, his deep blue eyes landing on Rhaegar with amiability. “Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here. We welcome you to the Riverlands” the Lord offered in an kind manner, extending his arm towards the castle as if showing it to a buyer. 

“My Lords” Rhaegar’s rich voice was heard, acknowledging the lords present there. Including, her father. 

She should’ve probably pay more attention to the courtesies, but her eyes quickly passed from Ned, to Ben, to her father, and the sound of the conversation developing near her, between the Lord of The Riverlands and her royal husband, became only a blurry noise in the background.

Ned, her dear Ned.  He looked stern and calmed, his expression as icy as the Wall. She thought it funny, yes, it was like seeing a younger version of her father, one next to the other. Both were so distant at times, so closed to the others, as if indeed, a wall made of ice was built around them. But Gods, she knew what was hidden behind those walls, and her heart softened at the simple thought. The most honorable and kind men she had ever seen. Benjen, on the other hand… The glint in his eyes, unlike the cold exterior of Ned and her father, showed so many things, maybe even too many. Excitement, amusement, eagerness, all together. She instantly approached him and embraced him in a tight hug, one that he reciprocated soon. 

“Lya!” she heard him call her, noticing how his voice had toughened since she left Winterfell. It was no longer that almost childish voice he had, but a husky one, one that promised iron tones in the future. Was it really possible that her little brother was no longer so little?

“Ben! I have missed you terribly!” she laughed near her brother’s ear, pulling apart after, only to take a better look at him.

His voice was not the only thing that changed. He was remarkably taller, taller than _her_ already. His body and his voice were different, but the naive spark of his gaze was still there, bringing child memories along with it in less than a second. 

“I have missed you too, Lya… You left me partnerless” he lamented, denying with his head “Ned here is not very fun to be around” he jostled his elder brother with mockery. 

“You look beautiful, sister” Ned offered her in a kind voice, a much less exalted voice than Ben’s, a small gentle smile cracking the ice mask of his face. 

“Oh, Ned… Look at you. You’re all… Lord-ish” was all she could really say, holding his hands into hers “Lady Catelyn” Lyanna smiled, and her eyes travelled from her brother to his lovely bride-to-be “It’s so good to see you again” Lady Catelyn was just as she remembered her, the auburn hair, the bright, blue eyes that seemed so kind, and the gentle smile. Gods, how could Brandon leave her thus? She missed Ashara terribly, but she felt relieved that the Lady had enough respect for Lady Catelyn and had decided to stay behind in King’s Landing. It spoke highly of her, specially since no one there knew of hers and Brandon’s affair yet, and she could’ve easily just show up as if anything had happened. 

“It is good to see you too, Your Highness” the auburn haired girl smiled lightly, with her hands together folded one on top of another.

“Just Lyanna, please. We’re to be sisters” she insisted. 

“Aye, Lyanna”

“Your Highness, you both must be very tired, I suppose” It was Lord Tully’s voice the one she heard, speaking to her husband “We should take you to your accommodations” 

Not long after that, the Lord of the Riverlands was guiding them through his marvelous castle, being followed by a numerous group of servants and other lords. _Gods’ sake, imagine if Rhaegar was King._

When they reached the bedchambers, Lord Hoster Tully proudly smiled before opening the doors for them. The accommodations at Riverrun were breathtaking, Lyanna was aware that given their status, she and Rhaegar had been given the most comfortable chambers in the castle. When they went in, the first thing she appreciated was the beautiful sight of the balcony, a vas extension of the river was spread in front of them, reflecting the very sky on it’s crystal clear waters. The bedchamber was airy, the stone walls supplied of a fresh temperature against the heavy sun that Lyanna herself had to bear for some days. Gods, all she wanted was for those lords and servants to leave the bedchamber and let her throw herself in bed. 

“My Princess… We will show you your chambers now” Lord Tully offered, involuntarily reminding her that that was not her room. 

Before she could give any answer, Rhaegar stepped forward. “Do you want to stay in your own bedchambers, wife?” he looked at her and spoke softly, almost whispering, only for them to listen. Without hesitation, she denied with her head. She didn’t want a huge room of her own, she enjoyed her husband’s company. But then again, she knew Rhaegar to be sometimes slightly shut-in, enjoying only the company of his books and his harp. “But if you want your space, I’ve no objections” she smiled. As a response, he smiled back. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Lord Tully. I think we will do perfectly fine sharing this room” _That’ll probably give them something to talk about._

“As you wish, Your Highness. But if you decide otherwise later, we will have it prepared for the Princess” 

“Thank you, my Lord”  

“We shall take our leave. If you need anything, just call me”

Without much left to say, Lord Tully fled along with the servants. 

Without strangers in the room, she instantly sighed in relief, feeling too suffocated to endure that tight dress for one more second. She immediately tried to undo the laces on her back, anxiously with clumsy motions. Rhaegar chuckled behind her. “Let me help you” his hands softly pushed hers away, and his skilled fingers loosened the laces expertly, probably as the result of years of playing his harp. The relief was instant, and she took a deep breath. “Gods be good. I believe my handmaiden was trying to strangle me” 

“A corset constriction. How clever” 

Lyanna threw herself in bed, enjoying the soft mattress under her body, her back relaxed instantly. She caught Rhaegar taking his boots and doublet off, folding it carefully and putting it in a chair. She wanted to chuckle at that, the first thing she did when she released herself from that dress, was let the dress fall to the floor and leave it there, forgotten. “Won’t you rest with me?” she invited him there.

When his response was the mere lift of a corner of his mouth, she got up to her feet once again, and in less than two seconds, she was grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed, pulling him in it with her. “Come” she smiled.

He lied next to her soon enough, is face looked as relaxed as it looked tired. “I think I needed this more than I thought” he laughed softly, his eyes closing slowly, and then, she could feel her own lids heavily falling down. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The feast was everything she imagined to be, the food and wine flowing freely, cheerful melodies mixing colorful garments in graceful dancing across the ball. 

Yet, there was something familiar. Catelyn Tully’s gaze. She recognized a little of her own in hers, that feeling as if one was about to be fed to the lions. The memory of her wedding feast was a messy blur in the back of her mind, but the feeling of despair and frighten, that she could remember, and luckily for her, with a smile on her lips. It would be no different for the lady, for sure, for her brother was an excellent man and a faithful companion. In fact, she could swear that the match was much more harmonic than the previous one with Brandon. In the end, without acknowledging it, Catelyn Tully had won a better husband, a better man.

She adored Brandon, of course… But as much as she loved him, she was not blind. He was not like Ned, not like her father either. 

“Lya?” Benjen’s voice sobered her up from her thoughts, his younger brother was sitting next to her, and he was looking at her with confused eyes.

Shaking her head lightly, she returned his gaze “What?” she numbly asked, blinking a few times. 

“You seem distracted… I mean, more than usual” 

“I am. I was just… Ah…” she blabbered, it was hard to find the words. 

“You were staring at Cat” Benjen pointed out, throwing a quick glance to the bride in the dais. 

“Cat?” she raised an eyebrow at the familiarity with which his brother addressed the lady.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Cat. She’s to be my good-sister, I can call her that. Right?” 

“Right” Lyanna deadpanned, having realized how many things she apparently missed when far away from her family. 

“I can’t believe Ned is married. First you, now him… Gods, I hope father is pleased now, I don’t want him to chase after a marriage for me too now” 

At that, Lyanna couldn’t repress an amused laugh, much to her brother’s pretended indignation. “What? He might be coming after me” 

“Hardly” she laughed “You haven’t even been sent to be a squire somewhere across the realm yet” 

“Well, I believe father has started conversations about it with Lord Tyrell” 

“Has he?” she wondered, and Benjen shrugged. “I believe so” 

“Well, at least if you leave, he will be in the company of Ned and his wife” she observed.

Benjen nodded. “He’s been afflicted ever since Brandon’s folly. He does not show it, but I can tell… Ned can tell.”

She directed her gaze to her father. His usual icy facade was put on, like a fortress around him. Was he worried? Was he upset? Sad? People in that room would never be able to tell. But his children… 

“Any news from Brandon?” her eyes never left her father. 

Ben denied with his head, his lips pressing tightly together, forming a thin line. “Is as if earth had swallowed him”

Indeed. Nobody knew a thing about him. But how she wanted to find out where he was, she needed to write him a letter, to tell him that he needed to stop playing the child and take responsibility for his actions. “He needs to assume the consequences of his acts” she murmured, Ashara’s face storming her thoughts.

“As far as I know, Cat was devastated when she heard the news… And Lord Tully, father had a hard time earning his favor again. You can’t imagine, Lya”

“But I can… Poor father”

“Indeed” Benjen’s face dropped, and Lyanna took it as a hint of something. “Did something happen?” she questioned.

Benjen’s face hardened, his expression was troubled for half a second. “Ben” she insisted.

He sighed, and his grey eyes landed on her with such seriousness that the matter was beginning to fret her. “I can’t lie to you, Lya” he began “Everything is okay now, so don’t panic. But when the whole issue was still fresh, father, he… His health. Maester Luwin had to attend him. Apparently, something related to his heart” ‘His heart’ Benjen said, but Lyanna felt as if her own heart was skipping a beat “He spent days in bed, Lya.”

“Gods” a shiver ran down her spine, and many different scenarios painted her thoughts. What if something else happened? Because it could’ve. 

“He’s fine now. You needn’t fret” Benjen put a hand on her shoulder, smiling lightly at her, trying to reassure her with those small gestures. 

Her poor father. Had the stress of his reckless children finally got to him? Good Gods, she was beyond grateful for his health, even if fragile at the moment. How was she supposed to break the news of Brandon’s paternity, then? “Ben… There’s something I have to tell you” she almost whispered in his ear, fearing that somehow, her words could slip through the ball and reach her father’s ears “But we need to be discreet. I don’t want anyone to find out. Not like this” she looked around her, finding many eyes and probably even ears scrutinizing her. One of the things she hated about being ‘royalty’. “Let’s dance” she nodded towards the dance floor, and Benjen agreed. 

Benjen took her to the dance floor, and as soon as the dance began, his curious little brother looked at her with questioning eyes. “What is it?” he warily asked. 

“It’s about Brandon… Sort of.”

“What about him now?” he narrowed his eyes.

She gulped. “Brandon is going to be a father” the whisper made it to Benjen’s ear, and as soon as it did, she felt him stiffening close to her. “What?!” 

“He and Lady Dayne, one of my ladies in waiting… You-you know” she blabbered, still startled to have said those words out loud “She’s with child. Two moons already” 

“Father is _not_ going to be pleased” 

“I know, I know. That’s why I must tell him in private. It would be worse if he finds out in some other way, or when the lady is already heavy with child” she couldn’t even imagine. 

“In private, but with a maester near” he suggested.

“Yes.” she looked around “I can’t believe you did not tell me anything about his health before, Benjen”

At her reproach, he looked slightly taken aback. “Well… We did not want to worry you, Lya. You were so far away…” he sighed “Father and Ned… They didn’t want you to be worried. And maester Luwin said he would be alright” 

“Gods, Ben…”

“He’s been feeling better. Do not fret, sister. It was just the stress Brandon inflicted in him” she listened to him carefully, but she suspected by the looks of him, that her face was still unrelaxed “Don’t worry, he’s fine. I’m taking care of him, maester Luwin is with us… You have nothing to fear” Benjen reassured her. Lyanna smiled at him fondly. Had she ever seen Ben thus? He was grown, so grown. He was on his way of becoming a man, a good man. “You’re right, brother…” 

“Yes, I know. Now, would you please tell me what it feels like to have Ser Arthur Dayne follow you the entire day?” he laughed, and there it was, the young, playful Ben she knew. 

Ser Arthur had always been a legend to her and Ben, of course, to the realm too. And now, she could say she was friends with the man. “Well I could introduce you later. I have influences, you know” she chuckled.

But in-between the soft ringing bells of her laugh, she saw Benjen’s smile ceasing, adopting a more serious expression all of the sudden. She looked behind her, and to her surprise, found stormy, depp blue eyes that were intensely fixed upon her. Robert Baratheon.

The man took a step forward, a charming smile plastered on his face as he walked towards them.  “May I have this dance, Your Highness?” he stood tall and strong, handsome too, and the man’s husky voice stretched to Lyanna’s ears then. 

She gave Ben a look of acceptance, and he nodded, with a small hint of mockery in his eyes.  

Instantly, the Stormlord stepped closer and took his place in front of her. One of his arms surrounded her waist, pulling her closer in a slightly gruff manner, and she suspected that his lack of tact or the faint clumsiness in his motions had something to do with the suspicious wine stench that she perceived. 

As the dance began, his embrace became a little bit tighter, and she wondered if it was really necessary. 

“You look beautiful tonight, Your Highness” he observed, with his deep blue eyes scrutinizing her face, and maybe even below. 

“Thank you, my Lord” she plainly replied, looking elsewhere, knowing that if she looked at him, those intense, blue eyes, heavy with the magical effect of the wine in them, would be there, looking at her with that _something_ she could not properly place. 

“I dare say, you are the most beautiful woman in the room” he insisted, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes when she felt the man’s chest getting even closer to her. “Thank you, Lord Baratheon.” she mid smiled out of courtesy. “You are most kind”

“None of that” he laughed “I’m only speaking the truth” he solemnly said “Ah, I remember the first time I saw you”

“Do you?” she asked, wondering if that was Robert’s speech every time.

“But of course. You were riding, in Winterfell. A fierce sight to behold, and you still are, now more than ever” the man recalled, his eyes shining upon her and his grip tightening slightly “And to think that you were to be my wife” 

And then, she knew where the conversation was going, and her suspicious upon the wine were clear enough. 

“You are most kind, my Lord. Pardon me if I remember so little from that first encounter” she tried subtly to be dismissive of that man who’s drunken intentions were beginning to annoy her. 

She looked around, trying to reach Ben with her sight, but her little brother was too busy looking at the Sword of The Morning with puppy eyes and drooling over him, probably listening mindfully to what he had to say. Benjen was a lost cause.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Hoster Tully had been speaking and on and on and on, and he had been willing to listen, truly, he even thought himself into the conversation, but at some point, he lost the track of it, and he knew quite well when the string of his attention was pulled. 

Lyanna was a vision that night, in a crimson gown that accentuated her curves perfectly, her pale skin, slightly kissed by the sun after days of traveling on horseback, only highlighted the strikingly beautiful steely hazel color of her stunning eyes. Did she even know what she caused in him? 

Perhaps the single sight of her would’ve drove his attention to her and only her, the Gods knew how spellbound that woman had him, but that was not the case, at least not in that very moment. Holding her as if he the man was a tick, his cousin was dancing with her, with his hands just an inch away from what he would consider already ‘inappropriate’, his lecherous gaze lingering on her much to his dislike. 

The problem was not her dancing with somebody else, no, but the lustful shine in his cousin’s eyes. That shine he knew so well. And that alone was enough for his blood to boil in his veins and his anger building up within him. He would gladly cut his cousin’s neck with a dagger, only to think of what that lecherous idiot was imagining. Gods, he could just strangle the man right there and then.  

“Your Highness?” Lord Tully’s words reached his ears, but his eyes were still piercing Robert Baratheon’s head, and his mind kept imagining ways in which the Stormlord could die by his own hand. “I beg your pardon, my Lord?” Rhaegar spoke, sharp knifes hiding under the velvet of his voice, trying to hold himself in place with what was left of his self control. “Pray repeat yourself”

“We were wondering if you would like to go hunting with us in the morrow” the Lord invited him, before the expectant eyes of the others in the table.

He took a second to process the information “Yes, yes, of course.” he nodded, and the conversation kept going around him. But his eyes followed Lyanna and Robert, never losing the sight of them among the sea of couples in the hall. The way the man smirked, so petulant, it was insulting. Or at least so it seemed to him. But when Robert pulled his wife a little bit closer, he lost it. “I shall be excused” he was aware that his sudden leave was probably surprising, but they could all go to hell. 

He made his way amongst the people, his sight fixed intensely on the couple in front of him. When his eyes met Robert’s, he felt his jaw clenching tightly, and the man’s posture stiffened as well.

In seconds, Lyanna’s eyes were upon him, wide open, a small smile curling her red lips up as her body turned and released from the exceedingly muscular arms of his cousin. “Rhaegar” she acknowledged him, a distinctive glint of relief in her voice. Was Baratheon bothering her? Because he would gladly put his head on a spike for her. 

He tried not to think about it any longer, the jealous feelings rushing his blood had him feeling as if he was Aerys III instead of himself. “Would you grant me this piece, Lyanna?” a gleam of silver shone under the velvet of his voice. 

The Stormlord did not say a word, but his reddened face was a monument to anger, and the second Lyanna took his hand, the man flew and made his way towards a table, demanding for more wine in a not so polite manner.

But instead of focusing in him, he landed his eyes upon _her_. The sight only made his dark thoughts grow again, because if that was the sight Baratheon had of his wife, he was probably having the very same thoughts and _wants_ he had. He pulled her as close as humanly possible, and his grip on her waist was firm, firm enough to scare any other man that dared to ask her to dance again. 

Her big hazel eyes were looking up at him, and a small smile filled with mockery appeared on her fair face. “Good Gods Rhaegar, are you alright?” 

Only then he realized the way his teeth were pressed against each other, and his brows were deeply furrowed. “Yes” he sternly answered, focusing on her red lips and how tempting they were. 

“Well, you look quite distressed” she chuckled, biting her lower lip after. Suddenly, he felt the urge to be the one biting “Relax, love. We’re in a feast, not in a Small Council’s meeting” she carelessly laughed, softly and musically in his arms. He fancied he could feel those red lips of hers on his, her soft skin burning him hotter than Balerion’s fire itself. 

And without much thought, he grabbed her by the forearm softly, and guided her out of the hall and into the hallways of the castle, ignoring the looks they probably earned.  “Rhaegar?” she asked, clutching her fingers with his when he grabbed her hand, her expression a questioning one. “Come” he said, and she followed him until they reached their chambers. “Are you tired already?” Lyanna asked, but he did not say a word. 

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he pulled her close by the waist, and his lips quickly stamped a hard kiss on her mouth. Surprised, Lyanna stiffened for half a second, but quickly returned his hungry passion, her mouth parting for him and her tongue toying with his, slowly.

He pushed her gently across the room, till’ her body hit the desk behind her, never breaking the kiss. His hands were traveling up and down her back until they reached the tip of those laces that kept her gown on her. It was soon enough that he felt her hands undressing him too with urgency, those simple motions firing him up. He held her by the back of her highs and sat her on the desk, and in her new sitting position, she surrounded his torso with her toned legs. “You’re mine” he simply murmured when his hands lifted her skirts until her thighs were displayed in front of him, and as a response, he felt her teeth sinking into the skin of his neck. “And _you_ , are mine” she gasped.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, until he slipped her gown down just enough for her breasts to be displayed. He sucked and licked and bit and stroked, plucking soft moans of pleasure out of her, moans that accompanied her uneasy hands that kept caressing his hair desperately. “Gods, Rhaegar” she moaned, and when he stroked a breast with his hand again, a small shriek of pain left her lips  “Be careful, they’re sensitive” she observed.

He bit her neck again softly before speaking “I’m sorry” he whispered.

When one of her hands went down on him, he felt the urgency to release his hardened member, to claim her as his, and he certainly did not care to leave his marks on her either. “You’re going to leave marks” she gasped when his mouth returned to her neck, as if reading his juvenile intentions.  “That’s fine. That way no man will ever dare to dream about you ever again” he gasped against her skin as her hands undid his buckle desperately “And if somebody does… I shall cut him in half”

“I want you” she gasped, surrounding his member with her hand, stroking up and down, and he had to bit his tongue to repress a moan. “I want you, now” she spat.

Without another word, he parted her legs with his hands on her thighs, caressing them, and gripping her hips greedily, tightly, even roughly before sinking easily within her wetness, painfully slow, enjoying every inch of her, feeling her warm arousal soaking his cock.

“Gods” she threw her head back, her red lips were parted and inviting. Instead of taking them, he simply watched, every gesture, every breath, she looked as if she were in a trance, and it only turned him on even more. 

He moved into her, his grip on her hips tightening, keeping her still in place as he thrusted into her every time harder and faster, delighted by his wife’s reactions, the way she bit her lower lip in pleasure. It was overwhelming, mind-blowing even, to be inside her and to feel her so aroused, to _watch_ her just as turned on as he was.  

Ecstasy was building up inside him, and his wife’s involuntary contractions around him told him she was just as close as he was to reach that heavenly explosion that so many times before they shared.

With a few more pumps inside her, and after he felt her stiffening and contracting around him, he felt the relief of spilling his seed within her, claiming her as his one more time.

With her heavy breathing, and her lustful eyes, she locked her legs around him, preventing him from pulling out of her. In one swift motion, her lips were caressing his again, predicting a long, arduous night before them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writer's block sucks...


	34. Early Morning

“What is it with you men that need to go and kill innocent creatures anyway?” she deadpanned huskily, swiveling upon the mattress lazily, her naked form still wrapped up in the sheets, her lids fighting for a moment not to fall again. Why did he have to leave _so_ early?

“Well, I’m not particularly fond of the activity” he tied his boots as he spoke, his eyes focused on the easy task his fingers were accomplishing skillfully “But I must go. If it makes you feel any better, I won’t kill a thing out there”

She sat up against her desires, feeling as if ten thousand stone bricks were hanging from her back, urging her to go back to her former position and spend the day abed “If you don’t want to go, then stay” she she yawned before speaking again “You’re the Prince. You can do as you please” when he looked at her, she gave him an impish smile that plucked one of his own from his lips. 

“That’s exactly why I can’t always do as I please” he turned to her “But you can rest” 

She sighed, and she positioned herself on her knees upon the bed. She leaned on his back, her arms surrounding him from behind “Come on… To hell with them, stay longer” she whispered in his ear, as her hands ran up and down his chest. 

His body seemed to react to the contact, and she felt his muscles hardening slightly “I really can’t” he calmly said, much to her displeasure, his fingers leaving the laces on his boots and tying the ones on his breeches. 

It was a simple thing, really, diplomacy, ah, the one thing royalty was damned with. But even if she understood such matters and the utility of them, it was not enough to sooth the sudden hunger she felt towards her husband. Maybe it was the intimate contact she made when leaning upon him, such a simple and small motion that held so much intimacy there, maybe it was the denial itself, after all, she never liked when things were denied to her, she often felt challenged when those things happened. She could not properly place where that hungry fire came from, but she didn’t give it much thought when her hands untied the laces he had just tied. 

“Lyanna” he turned his head to her, a small prompt in his eyes, as if he was just about to complain. Instead, a faint gasp pushed past his lips when her hands sneaked into his breeches and began to stroke him _there_. “What?” she wanted to smirk at how innocent her voice sounded, specially when she felt his body reacting quickly to her bold moves. 

She felt her lips curling up in a devilish smile, triumphant and pleased with her husband’s reactions. It would’ve probably lasted much longer if it wasn't for his hands stopping her, gripping her wrists firmly enough to make them stop. “I’m sorry. I really have to go” his voice sounded husky, and his eyes were devouring her, she was aware, but apparently, he was stubborn enough to defy those. 

She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips, an amusing thought crossing her mind quickly. There would be only two possibles outcomes after what she was about to say, and she would soon find out which one would be. Lyanna released herself from his grip and pulled apart. She stood up and when her feet touched the floor, the sheet that wrapped her body fell down to pool around her feet.

She didn’t need to turn around to know that his eyes were following her every step, but even so, she threw a quick glance in his direction through the mirror that was then in front of her. “You’re right” she said, ignoring his hardened features in the mirror, and focusing on the small, purple marks from the night before. “You can go hunting. It is your duty as Crown Prince…” her hand reached for the brush, acting as if she was ready to fix her messy, dark waves. “So maybe I can, I don’t know, go for a walk…” she started brushing her hair, softly, putting every strand in place. “Maybe I can persuade someone to accompany me, since you are so busy…” 

She could see him there, behind her, sitting on the bed and looking at her in silence, frozen in his place. She wondered how would he look the next minute. “Maybe I can ask Lord Baratheon, your cousin… He seemed to enjoy my company very much last night” 

She could not see the exact moment in which his features disfigured, but to see such a handsome face in so much distress was exceedingly amusing. After all, she did not miss the sharp stares he directed to Robert Baratheon the night before, the very same sharp stare he was giving her now. 

“What did you just say?” he sounded as incredulous as he sounded dangerous, his voice, his ever pleasant voice, calmed and collected, but it hid tones of valyrian steel under all of that velvet. 

She saw him standing up through the mirror, but she quickly averted her gaze, focusing it again on her long, wavy hair falling below her waist. “I’m pretty sure he will be very _pleased_ to do it” 

The next time she lifted her gaze, he was standing right behind her, his dark, indigo eyes were sharper than knifes upon hers, his brows slightly furrowed. Without saying a thing, she continued to unnecessarily brush her hair, ignoring him just as she would ignore furniture, so when his hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close to him, she looked at him with fake surprise through the mirror. 

His arms surrounded her waist tightly, and when his voice rang near her ear, she felt a small shiver down her spine “And why are you so sure?”. 

She smirked. “Well, since he does not have princely duties… And since he seemed rather interested in-“ 

“To hell with Robert Baratheon” his iron tones made the soft skin of her neck bristle, and she looked at their reflection in the mirror, drunk in the image displayed in front her. She found his jealousy utterly delightful, the way his eyes looked at her with so much intensity, and how his lips burned where they touched, his hands upon her naked body. The single image lit a fire within her that she knew would be very hard to ease. 

Fighting tumultuously not to be a babbling mess, and to ignore the dangerous feeling of one of his hands reaching the depths of her body, she struggled to make the words get out of her mouth “I thought you _had_ to-”

“Shhh” she felt his hot breath caressing her neck, a hand on her flat stomach keeping her tightly pushed against him. When one his fingers sank deep into her slick folds, she gasped heavily, pleasure spreading like wildfire along her entire body. The image in the mirror suddenly became blurry, so she closed her eyes and threw her head back, enjoying the sensations he was giving her.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Your Highness” Lord Tully stood straight as a spear, the eyes of those present behind him immediately landing on him the second his presence was announced. 

The group of men gathered there looked like they were going to war. Quite ridiculous in his mind, considering that what they were going after would hardly have any chance against them and their weapons and their dogs. “My Lords… I apologize for keeping you waiting” he walked towards his horse, eyeing Lord Tully before mounting Blackfyre. He truly was not sorry. “I had to take care of a small issue” he plainly explained, and could already imagine that ‘small issue’ grinning mockingly at him while he was getting dressed -again. At least _she_ was still doing so in his mind, chuckling at how easily she pulled his strings.

“Worry not, Your Highness. We are in no hurry” Lord Tully explained and the men agreed. As if they could say otherwise anyway. 

Rhaegar noticed the curious absence of Lord Stark between those lords, but maybe, just like him, he was not a man that enjoyed hunting. It would not surprise him, truly. And unlike him, he did not have to go in order to try and keep some good relationships between the Crown and the Lords of those lands.

Lord Hoster Tully positioned his white horse next to his, the man was heavily armed with bow and arrow, and he was putting his leather gloves on “We have some big stags in these woods, my Prince. You will be very pleased.” 

Rhaegar rose his eyebrows in response “In point of fact, my Lord, I must admit I’m terrible at hunting. I lack experience” he lied. He lacked interest. His aim was perfectly fine, his skills as a rider even more so, but the idea of hunting some poor, confused animal only to 'amuse' himself did not exactly appeal to him. The only stag he would like to hurt happened to be his own cousin, and he _did_ seem to enjoy the activity, since his loud, excited voice could be easily heard across the realm, cursing and laughing. 

“None of that… I’ve seen you fight and joust wonderfully myself, it is not so different. I would dare say, Your Highness, you’re just being modest”

“I wouldn’t hide behind fake modesty, my Lord.” he chuckled, ready to add some more to his comment, but the sight of Arthur carrying a serious, almost grim expression, distracted him. 

The knight looked serious, too serious for his liking. Excusing himself with Lord Hoster Tully, he made his way towards his friend. Next to him, Arthur Dayne gave him a staid look, the man mounted on his horse too. He slowed his pace down, and so did Arthur, taking a small distance from the lords guiding the hunting. It wasn’t like he was going to miss something interesting anyway, or truly participate.

“Is everything okay, Dayne?” he questioned when he thought his words were out of the others’ reach.

“A rider arrived this morning. I couldn’t find you earlier” was all Arthur had to say for him to understand. Rhaegar nodded in understanding, suddenly feeling eager to receive what the rider had brought all the way from King’s Landing, a small bundle of anxiety forming in his stomach. It had to be something important. Why would Jon bother to send a rider if it wasn’t? “Do you have it?” He asked, keeping his voice low and neutral, his eyes fixed in Jon Arryn’s back in the distance. 

“Aye” Arthur replied in an equally low voice “Shall I give it to you after the hunting?” the man asked, signalizing a small, folded piece of paper in the inside of his gauntlet with a finger. The paper had his friend’s seal in it, and there was no doubt it was from Jon. 

Rhaegar simply nodded, he wanted to avoid curious eyes upon his business, and reading the content of it in the middle of such a fuss was not a good idea. Sadly, his impatience would torture him until the whole 'hunting' thing was over. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She would’ve preferred to go and spar with Benjen in the backyard, of course she would, but oddly, her energy seemed to have drained completely from her body. Not even after the sinfully long nap she took after she let Rhaegar go to his damn hunting, the tiredness left her. Good Gods, she could very well just lean her forehead on that table and sleep right there. 

The never ending monologue given by Catelyn about babes and how delighted she would be to have five, in that soft voice of hers, was certainly not helping her. But apparently, the other ladies found it quite interesting, sharing their thoughts constantly and giggling at each other. 

They surely thought her obnoxious, she hadn’t said much since she got there, but the weariness was seriously affecting her to the point of making her feel irritable for the most unlikely things. That, she realized early in the morning, when a flock of of ladies and Catelyn Tully invited her to have tea with them, and all she wanted to do was to close her doors and hide under the bed. 

For her Old Gods' sake, she had to admit she was just unbearable that morning, and the extreme mood swing was just too much for her to handle. 

“Are you feeling well?” Jeyne asked in a low voice, leaning near her discretely. 

“Just tired” Lyanna gazed at her, letting her know that everything was alright. 

“Maybe you should retire. You look pale” 

At that, she held her breath. Was it notorious, then? Jeyne looked at her with a wary expression, and made a faint motion with her head, implying that she would go with her. “Fine” she accepted “But please… You take care of them, I feel too exhausted to give any explanations” she deadpanned, the odd feeling of irritation building up in her stomach again without a reason. If they didn’t think her obnoxious before, they would now. Not even she could stand herself in that moment. She could not even bear her own grumpiness, all she wanted to do was to lay in bed and stay there like a vegetable.

She got to her feet without a word, several pairs of eyes falling upon her the moment she made the motion. Without giving them much thought, she smiled limply at them, giving them the most polite smile in her arsenal and the most real fake-apologetic gaze she could produce. “The Princess is not feeling well, she’d like to be excused now” Jeyne explained without giving them time to even ask what was wrong, and Lyanna directed the only true apologetic look she produced to Catelyn, who smiled at her with a small glint of concern in her blue eyes. "Please, if you need anything, just let me know. I could accompany you now if you wish" she offered, but Lyanna smile at her and denied with her head.

"That will not be necessary, Catelyn. Please, do not fret. I'm just feeling tired"

The Tully girl still seemed concerned, but only limited herself to give her a small nod of acceptance.  

They said their farewells and left the place as soon as they could. All she wanted to do was to lock herself up in her chamber and sleep. How could that even be possible? In the morning, when she woke up, she felt with the energy of a thousand suns, and that, mixed with her sudden hunger for her husband, had ended up in a frantic dance between the sheets. Gods, she was feeling so well and blissful. But now… Could it be that the days of traveling had finally taken their toll on her?

Lyanna gave Jeyne a small smile of gratitude before telling her she could go, all before the puzzled gaze of Arthur. The presence of the knight outside her chamber could only mean that Rhaegar was already inside. 

“Arthur” she greeted in the best manner she could as Jeyne faded in one of the corridors, the knight lifted an eyebrow at her extremely calmed tone. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, and she nodded in response. “Yes… I just need to take a nap” she said before entering the room, giving Arthur a last smile.

Just as she thought, the sight of Rhaegar, sitting in a chair, reading a small scroll, greeted her from within. He looked extremely focused on the content of the letter he was reading, some thin, blond locks falling from the heap of hair behind his head, his gaze engrossed in the paper, ignoring the strands of hair in front of his eyes. At the interruption, his eyes went to her, at first, seemingly annoyed, but after realizing it was just her, his eyes softened and a mid smile took his lips. 

“I thought you would be scampering around with Benjen” Rhaegar observed, quickly creasing the paper in his hand, breaking the trance he was in just moments before. 

“Me too. But I ended up stuck in a ladies’ meeting and I’m not sure, but I think their conversation topic drained my energy” she chuckled, and so did Rhaegar. She approached the bed lazily, suddenly feeling like an evil woman for saying such things about those girls who did nothing bad to her. She definitely needed to do something about her grumpy mood, it was turning her into an absolute arse. “What do you got there? News from King’s Landing?” she questioned. 

Regar turned his gaze to the piece of paper in his hand again, a small frown that lasted almost nothing did not go unnoticed to her. “Nothing of importance” he simply said, burning the small piece of paper with the fire on the tip of a melting candle.

At that, she felt a quizzical brow rising in her forehead. If it was nothing, why was he burning it? 

She kept the very same expression. “Are you sure?” 

He wiped the blackened ashes of what remained of the paper with a hand, throwing them away, almost ignoring her question. “Yes. ’Tis nothing” he muttered.

Her innate curiosity was misting through her mind, but she lacked the will and the patience to get a real answer out of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, I KNOW. But the next one is going to be a LONG one, and something major is gonna happen, okay? :o we are getting closer to the messy stuff you guys! yay! This is probably going to be one of the last "peaceful" chapters... And btw, I had a lot of fun writing a moody and unbearable Lyanna lol... 
> 
> And for those who wanted to know what was written in the letter, you will find out in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :) and thanks for your awesome comments.. I really enjoy reading you guys... :*


	35. The Hour of the Wolf

_“Lord Mace Tyrell has been arrested. Lady Olenna Tyrell demands an audience with you. ’Tis urgent.”_

 Of course it was urgent when one of his allies was arrested under surely ridiculous circumstances. The letter itself did not say much, only that Mace Tyrell had been arrested under the accusations of evading the Crown’s taxes, and working deals with their lands without the King’s approval. Those would’ve been rather serious accusations were not for the King that they came from. 

He would need a much more detailed explanation from Jon, details that he surely could not write freely as to put them in the letter he received more than a fortnight ago. 

As the Red Keep rose in front of him, he could feel his frown deepening insistently on his face, his shoulders tensing slightly at the thought of what was waiting for him just after those gates guarded by several guards.

The massive iron gates opened in front of them, and Targaryen guards saluted them as they passed by. Jon Connington was just a few meters away, standing in the middle of the yard with his usual moody expression, his face seemed reddened by the sun, his deep, blue eyes burning with anticipation though. At least his friend’s grimace was just as usual.

Rhaegar dismounted his destrier, and with big strides, and much to Jon’s impatience, he presumed, he directed himself towards the wheelhouse in which Lyanna travelled all the way from Riverrun. 

She stepped down carefully, she carried a dreamy expression on her face, her lids heavy upon her eyes, as if she had just woken up. She took the hand he offered, smiling lightly at him. “Lyanna” he called her, lowering his voice as if there was a secret about to cross his lips, and she looked at him. “I need to go with Jon right now, there are some issues that need to be solved immediately” he explained to his half-awake wife.

A quizzical brow lifted in Lyanna’s face at the mention he made “Is everything alright?” 

If only she knew. “Yes, yes. ’Tis nothing. But I need to go right now” 

The poor explanation did not seem to convince her, but understanding that it was not the time to discuss such matters, she simply nodded, saving her questions for later, probably “Very well. Then go, I will visit your mother, I feel much more rested after traveling in the wheeled cage” she sighed, her reference towards the wheelhouse lit a tiny spark of amusement in him. 

“Go. Tell her I’ll go to her as soon as I can” she nodded at his request before abandoning the yard with a line of servants carrying things behind her. 

Jon was expecting him on the opposite side, looking sour as a lemon, and who could blame him, trying to clean all of Aerys’ messes in order to protect the plan they made was no easy task, that he knew. “Rhaegar” the man began as soon as his boots gave the final step in his direction, his auburn eyebrows rising high on his forehead in alarm, his hands gesturing as he spoke. “Jon. What is happening here?” he asked as he began to walk.

The redhead took a deep breath, walking along him, his freckled nose wrinkling slightly in what looked like an annoyed grimace, before saying anything “Lord Mace Tyrell has been arrested. He’s been accused of illicit deals behind the King’s back and trying to avoid taxes, but you already know that. And for the Gods’ sake, Rhaegar, the man did only speak to Lord Brax and Lord Banefort about probable deals ahead, they spoke of quantity and about possible payments, but naught else, words only for the wind, I would say. Of course, Varys’ ‘little shits’ came flying and…” Jon paused for a brief second, wariness in his wandering eyes, and his voice lowered considerably for his next words “And the King twisted it all in his head, and now Mace Tyrell is locked up in a _fucking_ cell beneath this castle.” 

“Have you spoken to Lord Tyrell?” he questioned, already foreseeing the problem there. Convincing his father to release the Lord of Highgarden would not be an easy task, but maybe with the right words filled with the blandishment he liked so much, it could be done. Twenty one years spent next to him could not be in vain.  

“Yes, the man is frightened to the bones and prayed His Grace for mercy” Jon deadpanned, his brows furrowing slightly before grumbling “However, I would not be extremely concerned about Mace Tyrell, but his mother…” he trailed off, an evident tinge of dread hanging on his last words.

And so he’d been told. The Queen of Thorns, some called her, with a sharp tongue and an unrelenting personality. “And where is Lady Olenna?” 

At that, Jon snorted, his hands thrown in the air helplessly, hit the sides of his legs when they fell back in their place, making a dry sound against the material of his breeches “That woman… She’s been demanding to speak to you ever since she got here, after a short audience she had with the King. When I told her you were not in King’s Landing, she said she would sit and wait since she had ‘plenty of time’”

“That audience could have not gone too well” Rhaegar mentioned absentmindedly, thinking of the ‘audience’ the lady had with the King.  

“Indeed. All I know is that she demanded an audience with you because, in her words, it would be easier to teach a pigeon how to play Cyvasse than to reason with the King”

And she was not mistaken. But _her_ failure at reasoning with him, would be _his_ burden. Not that he would blame the poor old woman for trying and failing, though, it was a tale he heard too many times before from many others. “Summon Lady Olenna, Jon. She’s been waiting for too long, then”

“Well I wish you luck with that” Jon murmured under his breath as one of his eyebrows lifted up in his forehead. “She truly is a handful” he grumbled.

In Jon’s mind, everyone was a handful sometimes, at least when they did not take the directions he wanted them to take or when their actions did not benefit his own causes. Jon Connington was, indeed, a man short of patience, and to some, short of a natural sympathy even.  

In the singular case of Lady Tyrell, she was said to have a distinctive character, and that, he understood, could completely clash against Jon’s own moodiness.  

He intended to go to the Throne room to greet the King, first of all, if only to win some kind of sympathy for the sake of the conversation he would soon have to hold with him, in benevolence of Lord Tyrell. He was well acquainted with his father’s deeply rooted tastes for flattery and being given full attention, and he thought it something in his favor. A tedious quality, indeed, but one that he could use to the fullest advantage. The King fell for those flat attentions, and apparently, to feel as if the whole world was beneath his feet, made him feel more confident, and _more manageable_ to other’s suggestions _._ It was no wonder Varys had him hanging on his strings, with his soft spoken tongue and pleasant words. But at the end, he decided to deal with the King later, and, he chose to listen to what Lady Olenna Tyrell had to say. The woman with an iron will had awoken some curiosity within him, after all, and besides, the poor woman had waited long enough while having her son locked up in a cell.

Lady Olenna Tyrell was a small, old woman, dressed in green silks with embroidered golden roses, Tyrell roses. The woman walked inside the solar with a nuisance stained look directed to Jon, who poorly disguised his own, walking beside her with his chin up high and holding his breath in his chest. 

“This is Lady Olenna Tyrell, Your Highness. She’s here to-“

“I can speak for myself, little fellow.” the woman made a stopping motion with a hand towards Jon, gaining an indignant look from him and a pair of blushed cheeks “Your Highness” she acknowledged then, ignoring Jon, and cutting any sentence the man could’ve produced, sending her impatient stare to Rhaegar after, but softening it as soon as it landed on him. 

“Lady Olenna. My most sincere apologies for keeping you waiting for so long.” he offered her in a polite manner, inviting her to sit in the chair across his desk. “I hope you understand, the whole incident took us by surprise”

The elder woman sat in the chair, throwing a quick look to Myles, who was standing near them with a blank expression “Fetch some wine, boy, please” she asked before directing herself to Rhaegar “No need to fret. I understand these things are unexpected, believe me, it took _me_ by surprise. I’m relieved that you understood the gravity of the situation and decided to come earlier to the Capital” she commented.

“I came as soon as I could, Lady Olenna. I understand that this is a very delicate matter” he noticed Jon in a corner, listening carefully to the conversation. In the end, he threw Jon a significant glance, moving his head towards the door in a faint motion that the redhead could understand, and in fact, did, for he left -reluctantly- just a few seconds after. 

It was not that he wanted to keep something from him, but to make Lady Olenna as comfortable as he could, and since the elderly woman did not seem to have Jon in her esteems, it just seemed fit.

The doors closed behind Jon’s back, Lady Olenna’s stare went from the doors to him again “I presume that _friendly_ faced friend of yours has already informed you of the situation, Your Highness?” 

The freedom with which such an elderly woman spoke was new to him, and it certainly amused him in some way. “Indeed, he had, my Lady. So, please, let us discuss the matter so we can find a solution” 

“Gods, boy! That’s enough, we’re not in a tavern” the Queen of Thorns groaned after Myles filled her goblet with wine, and the seemingly confused squire stopped his action immediately, blinking a few times in confusion. “Pardon me, my Lad-“

“No need to speak.” she raised a hand to shush Myles, just like she did before with Jon, and Rhaegar caught the look of exasperation on the boy’s face. All he could do to aid Myles in his distress, was to shot him a look to send him away. 

“My Lady, I am aware that the Lord of Highgarden has been arrested. I’m sure it’s been naught but a misunderstood, so I look forward to hear what you have to say” he spoke again once Myles was gone and the Lady’s attention was fully concentrated on him.

“Yes, yes, the Lord _oaf_ of Highgarden has been arrested under the most utterly stupid circumstances. All because of some _wheat_. I’m sure you are already acquainted with those tales, whatsoever. But your father, he does not seem to reason. And I know better than to try to reason with the unwilling. That’s why I requested to speak to you instead” 

“I understand, my Lady. And you did right” 

There was a brief silence in which the whole situation thundered Rhaegar’s thoughts, quick and lit, his mind already machinating a possible solution.

“Then, tell me, what do you plan to do about it?” the old woman asked, her grimace an expectant one, her fingers drumming against the wood of the desk impatiently. “One of your most _convenient_ allies has been thrown into a dirty cell because of some _ridiculous_ accusations against him”

“I am aware. House Tyrell is indeed one of our most important allies” he agreed with the woman, the spark of suspicion was lit as soon as she said it. That elderly lady was evidently aware of the scheme, and if his intuition was right, she might’ve taken part in Lord Tyrell’s decision of supporting his cause. But those were merely presumptions based on Lady Olenna’s character and the subtlety of her words “I shall speak to the King myself” he said “I will reach an agreement with him. But I must ask something of you, Lady Olenna.”

Lady Olenna’s vivacious gaze spoke for itself, but she aired the words anyway “And what is that?” 

He sighed. “Patience” 

Lady Olenna Tyrell stood quiet for a few seconds, her expression transitioning from a startled one, to one of acceptance. “I suppose patience is a virtue” she deadpanned, her thin lips pressing against each other in a resigned smile. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

To go back to King’s Landing and having to walk on her tip toes once again, trying not to call the King’s attention was, for sure, a pain in her arse. But to see Ashara again was the refreshing part of it, to see her looking as radiant as ever, and of course, to see Rhaella and the princeling. 

Ashara did not ask about her trip, not a single word came out of her mouth, but there was not much Lyanna could tell her anyway. Their departure from the Riverlands had been as unexpected as it had been sudden, without much of a clear explanation on the reasons for their departure and certainly without much time, they just left. In the end, the task she had in mind back then, ended up being relegated to Ned, who took the news bristling, and with eyes as wide as eggs. Poor, sweet Ned. He had been scandalized by ‘Brandon’s irresponsibility’. 

He had promised to write a letter to her as soon as he told their father, and she would anxiously be waiting. But until that day, it would be better to keep her uncertainty to herself and not to share it with Ashara. Even if she claimed that she did not need anything from _Brandon_ , or House Stark for that matter, it would probably not feel good to be dismissed by the father of her babe’s family. And knowing her father as she did, he would never do such a thing. 

“I see your size is the same, but your appetite has really developed” Lyanna observed as Ashara slip into her mouth the last piece of the cherry tart she ravened in just an instant while walking. 

The lady smiled happily while chewing the sweet, walking besides Lyanna. “I just can’t stop eating” she confessed “I feel constant cravings”

“I can see” she said in-between a chuckle “When are you going to tell Arthur?” Lyanna questioned, aware that, a part of the babe’s family would soon know, which could only mean that Arthur would be the next.  

How would he take it? The news would certainly not leave Brandon in Arthur’s good side.  

“It shall be soon. Otherwise, he’s going to find out because of the watermelon growing under my gown”

“I hope it does not come to that” she observed as they made their way towards the Queen’s chambers through the hallways. 

“I’m waiting because I _really_ don’t want to hear him giving me a sermon. Gods, he can be ‘Septa Dayne’ when he wants to, you know?”

“Now that’s a facet I would like to see” Lyanna laughed.

“Well… You shall see it soon. For now, I will retire to take a bath.” Ashara smiled, pointing her finger in the direction of the Maidenvault. 

“Go. I’m going to visit the Queen” 

And soon after, Ashara and Lyanna parted ways. 

Maegor’s Holdfast was just as quiet as usual, so quiet that she thought that even the landing of a feather on the floors could be heard. Before the Queen’s chambers, Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor stood straight as spears in their golden armors, each one guarding a side of the doors in their usual regal postures. 

She approached with light footsteps, trying not to break the peaceful, glassy silence of the stance, her smile widening with eagerness when thinking of the sweet Rhaella. “Ser, Oswell, Ser Jonothor” she greeted courteously when her footfalls stopped. 

Ser Oswell was the first to react, bowing his head and giving her a small smile “Princess Lyanna.” the knight acknowledged her, being followed by Ser Jonothor.

“I am here to see the Queen. Is she available?”

Ser Oswell’s expression immediately changed, his face acquired a more serious look “I am sorry, Princess. But the Queen cannot receive visits in this very moment” 

At the negative, she could only fear. Was she ill? “What? Why? Is everything alright?”

Oswell’s gaze shrank a little bit before answering “She is in good health, my Princess. But the King has ordered that she is to remain in her chambers until he says otherwise. And she is not to receive visits right now”

She was not ill, but she was being held _captive_ by the Mad King, then. _How ridiculous._  

“I need to see her. If you tell her I’m here, she will allow it. Please.” she almost begged, biting her lower lip in expectancy. 

“It is the King’s orders we follow, Princess” Ser Jonothor replied, his tone was cutting and cold, unlike Oswell’s amiable one. 

At that, she frowned heavily. But it would be no use, to discharge her frustration upon the two Kingsguards following orders from the King. It would be of no use, indeed. Without a single word, she simply turned around and walked away, fearing that if she stood in front of those doors for another moment, she might just shout and kick them open until she could see Rhaella.

What was that mad, old hag doing now? She knew how much Rhaella liked to be on the outside, enjoying the sun in the gardens, watching over little Viserys. And now that arse of a King was keeping her locked up in her chambers as if she was as mad as he was? To hurt such a sweet creature was already an abomination, but she swore, if those Seven Gods of them were actually looking upon him, the man had already earned a seat on the spikes of the seven hells all to himself. 

She often wondered for how long could his reign stretch, but that day in particular, she was _wishing_ ardently that it could end in that very moment.

Such was her ire, that without even thinking it twice, she made a short stop at her own chambers, changing her clothes quickly, only to direct herself to the stables. 

The only thing that would make her feel at ease in that very moment, would be to ride. 

In the stables, a boy, looking slightly besotted by her presence in the stance, glared at her shyly as she walked with heavy steps within the place, her boots making ireful, clacking noises against the ground “Princess?” the boy shyly muttered.

“Could you saddle Spinel?” her tone came out angrier and louder than she thought, her cheeks were immediately dusted in pink then “Please” she cleared her throat and soothed her voice then, hoping that it sounded less threatening than before. 

The boy nodded “Yes, of course.” 

But then, she remembered. The poor animal was probably exhausted from the journey they made. It would be criminal to force the poor beast to gallop again. “Wait!” her voice reached the boy’s ears and he instantly stopped, turning around to face her again, a quizzical expression upon his freckled face “Yes, Princess?” 

“Just saddle any other horse. Spinel must be tired from the journey” 

“As you command” the boy said once again before disappearing.

Quickly enough, the boy was back, bringing a beautiful white mare along with him by the reins, saddled and ready to be mounted. 

The animal itself was smaller than Spinel, but it was just as beautiful. She admired the animal for a few seconds, giving it soft pats on the neck before mounting her. She got on the mare’s back then, and when her heels dug into the it’s sides, it began to gallop. 

“Whoa, you’re fast” Lyanna admired, leaning to speak near the animal’s ears, as if it could actually understand her. Feeling the wind on her face, and the speed in her veins, a small smile curled her lips up. 

All the way from the Riverlands, she felt some odd tiredness crumbling her energy, which in the end, left her too lazy to ride. It was fair to say that, all of that, was behind her then. 

In that very moment, she only wanted to gallop her anger away. Imagining as if she was about to run King Aerys over with the horse certainly had some sort of therapeutical effect on her ire, it helped, at least. If it could only happen. 

The beautiful sight of the Godswood rose in front of her, with the red leaves greeting her with every whistle of the wind, the white weir woods rising high in all their glory. She found herself surrounded by them soon enough, the fresh air of the woods making her skin bristle as the mare kept galloping amongst the trees.  

Blurs of red and white were whirling around her, their particular, fresh scent caressing her nostrils, making her feel drunk. 

Were they really so blurry? Or was it just her? Because all of the sudden, it felt as if her sight was unfocused, and as if her hands were languid while holding the mare’s reins.

It must have been just her, because her thighs felt less and less strong against the beast’s large body, and the next thing she knew, was that everything blackened around her, as if the sun has suddenly decided to stop functioning, and her body felt languid from head to toe, light as a feather, and weak as a thin thread. 

The moment her body dryly hit the ground, a sharp, painful sensation scattered across her, and the last thing she felt before closing her eyes, was her head hitting something hard, pain thundering within her once again. The distant sound of the mare’s hooves against the ground was nothing but eco anymore. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And what makes you think I want to discuss the Tyrell’s situation with you now, boy? Is that why you came? Only to torment me?” the impertinent tone in his father’s voice warned him about his bad mood, but his lazy posture was something he thought in his favor. He looked oddly calmed. 

“Your Grace. If you could just allow me a few words with you.” he kept his cool mask on, and his eyes as inexpressive as he could “In private. It will not waste your precious time, I assure you” he pointed out with uncertainty clouding his best hopes for a moment. 

Reluctantly, and with impatience, the King waved his hand for his subjects to abandon the stance as a sign of approval. His many servants and lords left the room, all, except for Varys and the Kingsguards, the only ones who remained there by the King’s orders. 

So far, everything was going better than expected.

With the emptied place, he felt as if his small scheme could have some more probability of success. After all, what he was about to propose to the King, was meant to sound as a good idea that the King himself could claim as his own after. 

“Speak” Aerys spat, thin, bony fingers drumming against the throne.

“I am aware of Lord Tyrell’s situation. And I believe your judgement was the most appropriate, Your Grace” he began, his nervousness well hidden behind his ice mask, aware that Lord Tyrell’s fate depended on how well he could use that gift with words of his “But if I may… I would like to propose something to you that might be of some help to the Crown” he paused then, analyzing every twitch and every blinking in his father’s twisted face.

Nothing. His father’s gaze remained upon him, stoic and hard. “Continue” he waved a hand lazily. 

Rhaegar took a small breath then “Mayhap you could teach a lesson to Lord Tyrell and those who want to imitate him” his sentence won a briefly perplexed look from Varys, the cunning spider was then looking at him with interest in those dark eyes. “As you know, they are one of the most wealthy Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Instead of imprisoning such a greedy Lord, why not take from him what he wants the most? Gold. It would benefit you, Your Grace, and it would make you even greater in the sight of the realm” 

“Keep going” and with that simple invitation to continue, he knew something had clicked in Aerys’ perturbed mind. 

“You could double, even triple the taxes for the Tyrells. That way, the Crown would be highly benefited, and it shall reduce the Tyrells in the sight of the other Houses. It would also speak highly of you, Your Grace, to show how cleverly you can make the most out of such a situation”

The idea itself was ridiculous, to raise taxes in that magnitude to a man who did absolutely nothing wrong besides discussing business with another. But it was King Aerys, and misbegotten ideas were the ones he would usually take as the good ones.  

Aerys mumbled something to himself, for a moment, he looked as if he was swallowed by his own, twisted, little world inside his head. But the next moment, the King grinned, his hands fisting on his lap. “Fine” he finally said, his raspy voice incredibly soothed and collected.

Lord Varys lifted both his eyebrows in faint amazement, and gave Rhaegar a small smirk before returning to his usual, unreadable mask. “I must say, Your Grace, it is exceedingly wise of you” the Spider congratulated the King, if only to reassure Rhaegar.

“We will triple their taxes. Those Tyrell will end up losing their status after” the King cackled, but his eyebrows were still furrowed. What a disturbing image he made. “Now leave, Rhaegar. Go, go and work on it”

He bowed down in front of his father “As you command, Your Grace” 

Leaving the throne room behind him, he imagined that Lady Olenna would not be too pleased with the ‘agreement’, but then again, it was all just part of the scheme and as soon as he could, he would return everything to the Tyrell family. Besides, he had asked ‘patience’ and she had agreed. She seemed like reasonable, smart woman, she would understand and agree to it. It was her only choice anyway. 

When he reached his solar, he noticed the sun was already setting, the darkness of the place, only shredded by the weak orange tones of the sunset, gave him the notion. And only then he remembered he told Lyanna he would visit his mother. But with the whole issue of Lord Tyrell, the day had slipped through his fingers like water.

He lit a few candles, ready to search for ink to redact the documents he would have to use for Lord Tyrell’s matter. The sooner he finished that, the sooner he would be able to see his mother and Viserys.  

But a heavy knock on the door teared his thoughts off. “Come in” his voice sounded dry.

The doors opened, and in front of him, Arthur’s silhouette formed, his golden armor catching a glimpse of the sunset’s orange light.

The knight had a serious look  “Rhaegar” he called him as soon as the doors closed behind him, the faint tone of alarm in his voice quickly draw his attention. 

“What is it?”

Arthur stood quiet, looking at the floor for half a second before looking at him again “It’s Lyanna” he claimed “A stable boy said he found the mare she was riding wandering on it’s own, but no trace of her. It’s dark already, and she is nowhere to be found” 

Many thoughts thundered his mind, one after another, quick and cutting and some even dark. But he forced himself not to panic, not to fly off the handle, because it could be just one of Lyanna’s follies and she could just be out there somewhere laughing at them for concerning. To keep calmed and collected, would be the best. 

When he thought his day could not become any more stressful, there it was. Knowing Lyanna as he did, that was something she could very well do willingly. But then again, why would she simply disappear without letting anyone know? It sounded odd, and even if he got to keep himself calmed -for the moment- he would not take chances. 

“Make somebody ask every soul in the Keep. Gather some men, we’re going out to look for her. And bring the stable boy to me” he commanded as he pushed his hair back with a hand, his voice was unending steel, and he suddenly felt that seed of concern growing and growing within him. 

“I’ll bring him” was all Arthur said before leaving. 

Rhaegar took a deep breath, and he leaned on his desk, his fingers drumming impatiently, his stare lost somewhere in the room, only listening to the sound of the incessant taps against the wood. 

When the stable boy was brought by Arthur and he turned to face the boy, he suspected his stare was being slightly too intimidating for the boy looked as if he had just seen a ghost, his lips parted in what looked like awe mixed with fear, his green eyes were wide open. 

But at that moment, he lacked the patience, the ability to calm the boy. For the Gods’ sake, at that point, he could barely keep _himself_ calmed. “Tell me what happened” he urged him, impatience staining his iron tone, he noticed.

The boy’s face hardened then, and he realized that the sharp hastiness in his voice was probably the responsible “Your Highness. The Princess came in the afternoon, and asked me to saddle a horse for her. I saddled a meek mare for her, Your Highness, but I found the mare wandering near the stables an hour or two after…”

“And did you see which direction she took when she left?” 

“N-No” the boy denied with his head, his lips pressed tightly against each other.

Rhaegar’s gaze went to Arthur, tension filling the air.

“We should go out and look” was all Arthur deadpanned.

“Let’s go find her” he immediately agreed, anxiety gnawing him from the inside from one moment to another.

The very first place he had in mind, was the Godswood. Lyanna enjoyed riding there, and she had said before that the place held some resemblance of Winterfell. If there was anywhere he could think of her going first, that was it. 

The way to the Godswood, had been probably the fastest, and yet the slowest passing moment of his life, with eagerness made a gnarl in his stomach, and his heart beating fast.

At night, the Godswood was covered by a thick layer of darkness, only being torn apart by the light of the torches he and the men held, no moonlight could penetrate the mattress of red leaves upon them. 

The darkness was such, that his concern grew wildly then. It would be difficult to find a person in such conditions, what if she could not answer to the calls? There were so many scenarios in his head, some of them made his blood feel cold with fear. But he only hoped she was there, unharmed, safe. He could even imagine her voice calling for him and her slim form in the middle of the Godswood, telling him that he worried for naught and that she just fell asleep for a few hours there. 

Nothing.

Only silence, and the acute whistle of the wind, along with the footsteps of the several men in the search. 

His eyes were alert at any movement, his hearing focused in every direction. Anguish was starting to gnaw him, and when the light of his torch found and kissed nothing but more and more and more white trunks and some carved faces, crying crimson and looking pitifully at him, and after that, only more white trunks all the same, a heavy sensation on his chest began to press tightly, so tightly, he felt he could just snap and bite the head off of anyone that could interpose in his way in that very moment. 

“I found her! I found her!” the shouting came from the opposite direction, loud and strong, echoing across the entire Godswood. It bristled every single hair in his body to hear another voice to announce the success of the search, and not _hers._

Arthur threw a glance at him, and they both rushed to the place as fast as their legs allowed, a small shiver wandered down his spine at the sudden sensation that rooted down in his stomach.

The men were gathered in a circle, surrounding her then. 

The sight that followed, was one that triggered the most utter despair within every inch of his body.

His wife was there, lying on the ground, with crimson staining her clothes, and a small river of the very same liquid running down from her forehead to her jawline, a small glimpse of the fire was caught in the liquid. Her eyes were closed, and in that heavy darkness, she looked paler than ever, even when kissed by the light of the torches. Her fair features seemed more peaceful than he would have preferred, and _that_ , only served to freeze his blood.

In that moment, when the grim image took his breath away, he felt his heart stopping, and cold sweat dripping down his nape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously TRIED to write Olenna the best I could. I am aware that it is a poor representation of such a great character, but I will improve in the future :) and yes, the wine scene is from the show... I just LOVE that scene and Podrick's face :D 
> 
> As for Lyanna... Do you hate me already?
> 
> Oh, and people asking me Rhaella scenes... I was planning to put them in this chapter, but it was already too long and, well, you will read them in the next chapter :)


	36. Jagged Edges

 

There was an echo of a hammering pain in her head, the very same that forced her to open her eyes against her own wishes, her weakened pupils tried to adjust to the shimmering light that showered her senses, failing miserably in the first seconds, and as a result, scowling in displeasure. When a warm grip around her hand tightened slightly, and her name floated in the air in Rhaegar’s iron tones, only then, she was fully aware. Aware of the pounding knock in her head, aware of the sudden ache that brewed in her lower belly, aware that somehow, time skipped for her and she was no longer between white and red trees, grumbling against the King, but in her own bedchamber, lying in bed. 

“Lyanna” his voice called her name one more time, almost as a careful whisper. Why?

She tried to move from her position, but as soon as she did, a sharp pain travelled down her back, nesting in her lower stomach at the end. Her eyes were tightly shut then, and she had to bit her lip to keep a groan of pain from being thrown in the air. “Lyanna, easy” she heard him say, one of his hands resting on her forehead then. 

“What happened?” was the interrogation that brewed in her head shortly after she was able to sit down, slowly, careful not to pull the strings of pain once again. The question was simple, evident even, and she thought she could actually know the answer if she put the pieces together. 

His facade of calmness broke for a brief moment, his concerning shimmering through the cracks of it. “You fell off the horse” was his reply, his fingers brushing her cheek smoothly, gently “You hurt your head. And your back…” his tone seemed to be trailing something off along with the gentle touch he gave her, his eyes were two dark pools to sink in. Yet, there was something unsaid, and she refused to drown before hearing it.  

“But am I alright” she numbly threw in the air, maybe not in the form of a question, but it certainly implied one. 

The brief silence between them made her wary, made her impatient, made her curious about his cautious look too.

“You were carrying” 

For a moment, everything stopped. _What a twisted dream._

She felt her lips parting in what she supposed turned into a grimace of despair, but when her husband remained silent, glancing down at her with a _very_ real gloomy look on his face, she knew that was no dream, no nightmare, but reality. 

“I _was_ carrying” like a ghostly murmur, the sentence left her lips. She proved herself valiant enough as to said it out loud, aware that once said, it would only make it real. Very real. Still, the very sentence felt like a knife being twisted into her stomach, and nausea took over her, feeling as if she could just vomit. “I…” her mouth went ahead of her mind, and she found herself short of words. Whatever she had wanted to say before, was no more.

Her expression should’ve been very telling, for Rhaegar’s face was a monument to exasperation before her unfocused sight. “Everything will be alright” he held her hand and squeezed it in his own. 

How could ‘everything be alright’ if she had just miscarried her, - _no-_   _their_ child because of one of her whims? How? Instinctively, she lowered her hand to her flat stomach, covered with the sheets, and the whole notion still seemed too foreign for her to believe. She didn’t even know. She never knew. The realization came like a striking wave, all at once, cold and merciless. 

“How long?” somehow, she managed to ask, looking down at their clasped fingers on her lap, feeling the unease rooting down in her. 

“Not long… Make your calculations” 

The babe, the tiny thing, it could not have more than two moons. That tiny babe had to pay for it’s mother’s ireful outbreaks. 

_Why?_

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry” her voice came out shaky, glassy, broken. She found it odd, to feel so grim on the inside, but as if the venom of such acknowledgment hadn’t just reached the deepest part of her yet, she couldn’t shed a her tears. Not yet. Was that even really happening?

Rhaegar sat on the edge of the bed, and all she wanted to do was to hide from his sorrowful eyes and his gentle words. “You didn’t know. ’Tis not your fault.” _Yes it is._

Had she been less stubborn, less capricious, less eager to anger like she always had been, she would still be carrying life within her. And she could not help her tongue, but to tell the truth. “But it was… I was so angry because they told me your mother was confined to her rooms, I just… I just…” her breathing became irregular, and a sudden weigh pressed against her chest, suffocating her, constrictively, until it hurt. Only then, her sight became blurry, but not blurry enough not to notice the brief startle in her husband’s face at the mention of his mother, _perhaps?_. 

“It was an accident. And the maester said that you hurt your back, that you could’ve lost the use of your legs, Lyanna. Gods.”

He wiped the lonely, hot tear that rolled down her cheek, but all she wanted to do was to scream and hit herself out of rabid raptures. He kissed her forehead, and she wrapped her arms around him then, the burning sensation never left her, but she found ease in the embrace, nesting herself in it. “Thank the Gods you’re not badly hurt, Lyanna” he breathed against the top of her head.

She wasn’t hurt, not really. But she did hurt somebody else, the tiny babe within her, and he didn’t seem to understand, or at least not completely. Not even she was sure she understood, and she had to wonder, was his apparent lack of comprehension made up to make her feel better, or was it genuine? Was that one of his facades?

He should’ve known better, he could not always protect her from everything, and lessening her fault would do nothing. _Gods, Gods, Gods._ “I’m sorry” she whispered against his chest, and that time, it was meant for herself, broken voiced and pained.

“And I am too… It was _mine_ too, Lyanna.” his voice misted between her wavy, disheveled locks and caressed her ears, sorrowful and quiet, just like in one of those beautiful songs he liked to sing so much. 

There was a small lull between them, like a silent understanding, an ephemeral moment of shared grief that was as painful as it was grim. What else was there to say anyway? Naught. Nothing that would really matter.  

But her thoughts were quickly ripped apart, because the sound of heavy, almost metallic footsteps outside her bedchamber thundered from afar, as an approaching storm. Rhaegar pulled apart from her, his eyes on her, wary with anticipation of what was coming. “Lay down” the cool tone of his voice hid an alarming urgency, and she looked at him in confusion. “Now” he urged her, her desire of demanding an explanation placated by the gravity in his eyes. 

She laid down as he had told her, and from her spot, she could appreciate the deep scowl in her husband’s face as his stare kept stabbed in the doors of her bedchamber, as if waiting for something to happen.

Not soon after, they were wide open, without a knock, without a warning, but only a dry sound, and her entire body jerked at the sight of the King and his Kingsguards behind him.

If that was a nightmare, it was only becoming worst and worst.

The man looked as erratic as usual, but his eyes, those cold, lilac eyes… They were consumed by fury. Rhaegar stood up, but remained close to her, shielding her partially from the King’s sight, and that was just fine, truly, because whenever that mad man was around, whenever his pale eyes landed on her, she felt like clinging to the top of the Keep and throwing herself to the rocks. 

“Your Grace” was her husband’s regal greeting, disguised disgust underneath. The man, the _King_ , only had eyes for _her_ though. A shiver meandered down her spine and made her heart skip a beat, and then she knew, nothing good would happen.

“You” his raspy voice almost shouted, a bony finger pointing towards her. “You useless, northerner whore” 

Lyanna stiffened in her spot, her fists clenched tightly as a reaction to the insults that were so suddenly thrown to her. Gods, she felt paralyzed. Out of fear or out of anger, she could not really tell. Maybe both. 

Rhaegar had taken a step forward towards the King, his arms at his sides, and Lyanna could only see his frame from behind “Your Grace, my lady wife has-“ 

Aerys’ ugly scowl deepened. 

“Do not, boy! Do not!” the King snapped right then and there, hatred filling his frightening eyes “You will be quiet while I speak” _Bark_ , was perhaps a better description of what he was doing. Yes, it fitted better. “You, savage girl… I should have you hanged for spilling dragon’s blood. What are you? A wildling whore that cannot behave?”

She only realized she was shaky as a leaf when her nails sunk down in her own palms, she was biting her lip so hard that she was sure blood would be spilled soon enough. “What kind of an idiot are _you_? You cannot behave properly, you have no endowments besides your tits, and now we learn that you can’t even carry a child without wrecking it all by yourself” Aerys’ insults went on and on and she didn’t know wether to cry or to tear the old hag apart with her own hands and she could only curse herself and her stupid vulnerability. 

All she could see was red, angry, ireful _red,_ and she was sure that hot, rabid tears were already visible on her face. 

“As for you” the King spoke to his son then “If you want to get rid of her, you have my permission. We can find another.”

Her breath came out ragged, and her lip hurt from being bitten so harshly.  

She noticed the way Rhaegar’s frame tensed, and several seconds passed by until he reacted. Rhaegar answered in a cool, calmed tone, a forced one that made her wonder, how thick was the marble wall around him whenever his father was around? And how much would it resist? “You are generous, Your Grace. But I must decline. This whole matter was naught but a grievous accident, and it shall not happen again. I’ve been told by Grand Maester Pycelle that she will be perfectly able to bear children again”

Several, silent moments passed by, in which the King’s erratic expression was as unreadable as it was frightening, his lilac orbs fixed upon his eldest son. She could not see Rhaegar’s face, but she could see the way one of his fingers twitched before speaking. 

“Then, put a leash on this one, if you want to keep her. I will have no more Targaryen blood spilled because of your wildling whore, I’m warning you, Rhaegar.” the King warned, only to lower the tone later “Foolish boy… Do as you please, this will be your burden to carry, not mine.” his hand waved in disinterest.

Only moments later, the man made an unpleasant grumble, but in the end, he turned around and left with his golden Kingsguards behind him, some of them, looking rather uncomfortable after the insults thrown left and right to their Princess, but then again, she could not be sure, since her sight was blurry and her palms hurt too much from her nails digging in and her thoughts kept raging inside.

Rhaegar’s fingers took hers, releasing the pressure of her own nails upon her skin, a scowl forming on his face when his eyes fell upon the mistreated skin of her palms. “This will end soon. I promise” he said, and her stomach twisted at the jagged contempt with which he said it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That poor girl…” a faint whisper pushed past her lips, as her delicate fingers clenched around the sheets underneath her as a reaction to the news brought by Yara. 

A heaviness rooted in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if it was her condition’s fault, or perhaps the acknowledgment of a tragedy that mirrored her in a past time. “I need to see my son” her heart stumbled, knowing herself absent during such a time. 

“My Queen… I can send for him if you’d like” Yara gently offered, even if the girl had probably understood her meaning perfectly. 

Rhaella wanted to laugh in bitterness. “My son’s wife had just lost a child, Yara. It is I whom is supposed to go to them, not summon him here” her voice carried an unusual hardness, and it was not exactly directed to the young servant girl, but rather at herself.  

Slightly taken aback, the courage on the girl’s face did not fade, some kind of stubborn, protective twinge towards her made her speak again “But My Queen… You know that His Grace-“ 

“Aerys can go to the seven hells. I will see my son.” Rhaella stood from the bed, almost not recognizing her own voice, the strength in it, and the girl in front of her paled as if she had seen the Stranger itself in the stubborn, bold creature that had taken the form of her beloved Queen. If only Yara knew what a mother was capable of doing for her children. 

“The Kingsguard, they are at your doors, Your Grace” she threw a look of despair to the wooden doors behind her, reminding her of those silent statues outside her bedchambers, ‘guarding’ her.

“I do not need to use those doors, Yara.” she claimed as she made her way towards some point in the room, paying little mind to the girl’s frightened voice “You are free to leave, if you wish” she said as she walked towards one of the many tapestries hanging on the walls. The eyes of the fierce Visenya embroidered on the tapestry looking down on her as she approached the wall, as if the warrior Queen herself was urging her to do what she was about to do, to ‘wake the dragon’ in her own way.

A few light footsteps behind her, and a smooth, scared voice rang then. “I will go with you, Your Grace” 

Rhaella wondered, for a moment, if what she was about to do was too dangerous for her. If Aerys ever found out, he would see it as a defiance to his orders, to his power… And she was far too familiar with the consequences. She still had marks to prove it.  

But what kind of mother would she be if she did not do it. If she didn’t, her own cowardliness would only serve as a reminder of how Aerys had turned her into a simple object to discharge his madness on, taking from her over and over until there was nothing left to take. He certainly would not take her love for her children away, ever.

It was then than she decided to go on, and her silhouette got lost in the passage hidden behind the tapestry hanging from a wall of the room. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. 
> 
> Oh, for those worrying about Lya's health, she's perfectly fine, besides the whole miscarriage thing (sorry about that). So, don`t worry about it!


	37. About Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it took longer than usual. 
> 
> I wasn't really planning on updating this yet, but oh well, some of you guys were asking for it. 
> 
> Seriously, this author has been veeeeery lazy lately. Besides, I've been writing something else, only to clear my mind a little bit because I was a little saturated... Maybe you'll see the result in a few days (a new story).
> 
> As for the next update... Next week! :) probably on monday. THANKS FOR READING! And thanks for leaving comments! Seriously, you guys are great! (yeah, you too, psycho readers.. you are pretty awesome :D)

“This is madness, Rhaegar!” Jon paced around the room like a caged animal, massaging his temple in a nervous manner. But he could not care less, and his reaction certainly did not impress him either, if Jon Connington was angry about it, he could be ten times angrier than him. If only he knew. 

Rhaegar’s gaze followed Jon through the room, resting his weight on one elbow against the wall, feeling his own nervousness rising up and up and up and waiting for it to reach it’s limit  “That man sitting on the throne, _that_ is madness, Jon” he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes as he pointed that out, feeling as the last drops of his patience ran out with every single one of Jon’s negatives to absolutely _everything_. Changing his friend’s plans from one moment to another was not the wisest thing to do, that he knew. 

But he was tired, sick of it, if he had to put it in some other way. He had not always been cautious, but yes, smart enough to pull his father’s strings -the ones he could- at his will. He had locked his easily riled nature away, or at least, he tried, after several beatings on his earlier years that forced him to learn how to be his _cautious_ self _._ But that would no longer do, and everyday he felt as if he could just jump at his father’s throat and rip it apart and actually _enjoy it_. That would bring him much satisfaction, indeed, and maybe that was what frightened him the most. _Kinslayer._  

“You can’t be serious” the man spat, and his answer was the mere lift of an eyebrow “You are actually willing to let it all be a disaster now. For what?” the freckled man inquired, stopping his pace to confront him, eyes scrutinizing him with disbelief.

Had he gone daft? Had he not witnessed the very same things he had for many years? “The realm can’t stand it anymore, Jon! For fuck’s sake!” he barely even recognized his own voice, raucous and anger filled, the tension stretching the last remaining threads of his patience until they unclasped. 

Jon let a sour little laugh out, irony stained, disbelief in every note “Is it because _you_ and _the realm_ can’t stand it anymore, or because that disquiet wife of yours can’t, Rhaegar?” 

And there it was. Jon was pushing his luck around the edges of his forbearance, and only the Gods knew how much he wanted to discharge his rage on something, someone, _anything_ really. “Careful now, Jon” he warned, sending a sharp glare towards his friend. With red painted cheeks and an indignant snort, Jon’s answer was one of understanding. 

“You do realize, you are putting everything we carefully planned for months at risk now? For what, Rhaegar? I know about your father’s latest outbreak, the entire keep knows! For fuck’s sake, King’s Landing knows about it! What a coincidence. Now you decide that you’re tired of it?” 

“And since when do I need to explain myself to you? You forget yourself, Jon” his gaze piercing his friend’s head, the other remained silent at the sudden pull down he received, his face hardened  at the reminder. “And if we don’t move fast, all I will accomplish when this is all over, is to be the King of ashes”  yes, indeed, the King of ashes. His wife’s ashes, his mother’s ashes, his kin’s ashes. 

It was fair to say that patience was no longer one of his virtues, and that the King -not his father, not anymore- was pushing him to the very edge, and there were too many dangerous edges. 

Jon held his breath only to release it in the form of a heavy sigh moments later, his puzzled face showed him to be at the beginning of a nervous collapse. And he thought about it, he had the right to it, after all, their heads could easily end up upon the walls of the Red Keep “If you want to do this… We will. But could you listen to me for a second?”

“Speak” 

“If we do this now… It will be a mess. A bloody mess. You need to give me time, Rhaegar. A few moon turns, that’s all I’m asking from you. How am I supposed to prepare the Lannister army to surround King’s Landing without raising suspicions in just a few days? And the Tyrell fleet… Gods be good, you know better than anyone how we planned things. We are already transporting weapons, in a non conspicuous way. If your father turns his sight to us, his _paranoia_ to us, because of any misstep, we’re doomed.” Jon paused for a brief moment, his meaning hanging in the air, giving Rhaegar time to remember _why_ those plans were supposed to go so slow.  The man in front of him continued “And if we’re not doomed, it will be a bloodshed for the throne. I’m sure you can remember your own words, and there is no need for me to explain to you something you yourself explained to me moon turns ago”

A bloodshed, yes. He did not forget, how could he? Everything had been meticulously planned and designed not to shed unnecessary blood. But in such a rile, the notion of it seemed lighter, unrealistically light, to the point where all of his efforts to spare as many lives as they could, were put behind a dense smoke curtain of ire. And that was what he got for letting the heat go to his head. 

Choking on his own moodiness at the realization, he snorted. “I know” it sounded like a growl, like a hymn to weariness, maybe. Jon relaxed then, his shoulders loosened instantly, but not completely. “Five moon turns.” he sentenced, aware that, even if the time was slightly short, it would be enough for the preparations to be done. 

Jon’s lips parted in what was probably meant to be a protest, but in the end, remained silent. The red haired man knew better, Rhaegar guessed it had something to do with the sharp glare he sent him before. Instead of a whine, all he got was a nod “Five moon turns, then.”

That time, would surely put his patience on the edge, but he could not ask Lyanna to bear it with him. The wisest thing, would be to send her to Dragonstone in the meanwhile, for he could not leave King’s Landing, and he certainly did not want her there when the whole scheme took flight, not her, no his mother, not Viserys, but for the last two, he could do little. If everything went smoothly enough, there would be no need for a battle, but such a thought could only be applied to ‘normal’ circumstances, and maybe he could not even afford that.

“Rhaegar” Jon called his name, tearing his musings apart. “What happened to Lord Tyrell?” 

“He will be set free in the morrow. His taxes will be ridiculously increased as a punishment” he commented plainly. 

“Won’t that bring conflict to our alliance with the Tyrells?” 

“Nay. I spoke to Lady Olenna. The fair amount of coin will be given back to Highgarden after my father’s dethronement” 

“Well, that was very civic minded of her. I thought the Queen of Thorns would be less… reasonable.” Jon made a small grimace of displease. Apparently, Lady Olenna did not leave the best impression with Jon. But having dealt with the elderly woman himself, he knew she was not exactly the type of person Jon would get along with. 

“You’d be surprised…” Rhaegar sighed. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emerald green wafts brushed against her skin, melting it mercilessly with every stroke, into a painful river of blood and gore. Before her eyes, the sight of her own, bare flesh displayed in the most disgusting and crude possible manner, made every hair in her body bristle, gobs of her melted skin floating in pools of her own blood. She thought she could just vomit out of disgust and pain and fear.  

She tried to move, she truly did, but her limbs did not respond as she expected them to, and to her utter horror, they were becoming nothing but bags of shredded flesh falling off of her hot bones, and her heart felt as if it could simply pierce her own chest out of despair, her breathing was beyond irregular. 

In front of her, a giant shadow stood still, dark, silent, it didn’t even move, and her senses were going mad. Mad at the painfully burned limbs and the flesh melting off, at the flustering, loud cries of a child that thundered across the stance and that made her want to leave her own body in order to protect the child, and also, at the frightening silhouette standing in front of her, as if the devil himself had taken that dark, huge and brute form, and was only waiting to eat her very soul. 

And when the shadow in front of her made a move, she felt her heart skipped a beat in agitation and her soul was leaving her own body. All of the sudden, she was back in her bed, eyes wide open, and the heavily decorated ceiling of Maegor’s Holdfast never looked so good before.   

 _A nightmare._ Her breathing was ragged, and even if the dream was over, the anguish remained, constricting her chest tightly, but yet, not her racing heart that was about to escape her body with its thunderous, impassive beating. _Gods._

A soft hand rested upon her forehead and brought her back to reality, and sad, lavender gems seemed to pierce through her very soul with just a glare. “Were you having a nightmare?” the Queen asked in a low voice, delicate and gentle, just like her touch. 

Trying to calm her breathing, she nodded in response, closing her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. “I used to be plagued by them. Some say it happens because we overthink” Rhaella said softly “How are you feeling, Lyanna?” 

“Fine” she lied, putting herself in a sitting position, and the Queen’s unhumorous chuckle and insisting gaze told her she needed to lie better. “Not good” the confession burned her tongue, and she lowered her eyes to her hands, clutched together.

“It’s hard. I should know” the Queen sat on the edge of her bed, and Lyanna’s mind could only think about Rhaella Targaryen and her lost children, all of them, gone and dead. Was she to suffer the same fate? The mere thought gave her chills. Only then, Lyanna realized there was a small figure standing behind the Queen, one of her handmaidens, apparently, looking rather nervous while inspecting the doors carefully.  

Lyanna’s eyes went back to Rhaella, and she remembered what the Kingsguards told her when she tried to visit her. Something was not right. “You are free” she mumbled clumsily, blinking a few times in confusion, hoping that Rhaella could nod in response. 

However, Rhaella’s mid smile told her otherwise. “Oh…” she tensed “H-How did you-“ 

“A Queen has her ways” the woman looked at the window, the darkness of the night tainting lavender into dark lilac. “If I can’t even be here for you, for my son… Then what meaning does my life have?” 

Lyanna’s heart stopped. How could she say something like that? She was one of the few people in that whole castle that was good and generous and kind hearted. A fierce monument to bravery and kindness, one could say. “Your Grace… Have you no idea of how loved you are, how much you are to us?” she felt strange, letting her feelings taking over thus, but with Rhaella, it was so, so easy. Was that how it would’ve been with her mother? She could never stop wondering whenever she was around her. 

The Queen smiled softly. “I do, my dear” she said as she pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. 

“I am so grateful for you, you know? You will be a wonderful Queen someday, Lyanna” 

At that sentence, Lyanna felt small. Incredibly small. She would be Queen, and what a terrible Queen she would be. How was she supposed to have Rhaella Targaryen’s grace and beauty? Such a temperance. Of course, the whole ‘Mess of a Queen’, would only happen if Aerys didn’t change his mind, and decided to annul her marriage to her silver prince. Her soul hurt. “I’m not so sure” she smiled weakly, a sudden wave of anguish lunging against her “I tend to blunder… A lot. And the King, he could set me aside” 

“And who doesn’t blunder? Specially at your age. Gods be good, you are so young, Lyanna. And if you’re referring to this accident… Sweet girl, you cannot blame yourself for it. You didn’t mean to, you didn’t even know.” her honeyed voice claimed, only to turn slightly bitter, or maybe stronger, in the next sentence “As for Aerys… Rhaegar would never let that happen”

And that only scared her even more. 

“I still can’t stop thinking that maybe… Maybe if I wasn’t the way I am, this wouldn’t have happened and-” 

“And will it fix anything? To think about it over and over?” the question floated in the air, and Lyanna remained quiet, finding herself unable to give an answer, not because she didn’t know what to respond, but because there was no need for it. “No. We all make mistakes, we can’t un-do them sometimes, but we can learn from them. This, was the Gods’ will, my sweet.You can’t change it, but you can accept it, and move forward with what you’ve learned” Rhaella spoke, and for the first time since that damned accident, her spirit felt slightly relieved. 

She could not change it, and she could not sweep away the thoughts of silver haired babies, with their father’s eyes and sharp, beautiful features, and maybe, just maybe, her wild, northern temper. But maybe, such a hit was necessary. _The Gods’ will._ Maybe, they were trying to teach her a lesson, and what a painful and hard that one was. “I know” she mused in a tiny voice. 

When it all happened, Maester Pycelle had assured her that she was healthy and would be soon ready to procreate once again, the septa told her the very same thing, Gods, even Rhaegar told his father such a thing, even if she knew he was supposed to say it for her own sake, it stung. Rhaella on the other hand, she was the first one that did not try to comfort her with the notion. Instead, she knew her to be the only one that could truly understand the feeling.  

“Now, look at me, Lyanna” with a watery gaze, she did as she was told “I know it’s hard, and I know it feels terribly wrong, and as if you did something wrong” a single tear left a wet trail on her cheek, because she could not yet shake that sense of guilt off of her “This baby, the Gods have claimed it, and only they will know the reason. But you need to be strong and to compose yourself. You will have to face many difficult things yet. You will be Queen,  and I’m sure that you will overcome them all. It will not be easy, but you might find, my dear, that it can bring you great satisfaction” 

She wondered about those satisfactions Rhaella spoke about. Seeing the mistreated Queen was difficult, and even more to imagine her reasons to be pleased with her position. The real difficult thing, was perhaps to imagine her in the hands of such a tyrant as Aerys. Where was the divine justice many prayed about? Although, if she had to think about it, deeply and truly, her sons could be that happiness she was talking about. 

 


	38. Plots and Schemes

"Auch!” a little shriek escaped Ashara’s lips the moment a needle poked her skin, still, the dornish woman remained straight as a spear in her regal position. “Forgive me, m’lady” the ashamed seamstress working with the needles and the silks murmured, and Ashara’s face relaxed. “It’s alright, Darla” 

Watching Ashara getting measurements for her new dresses was certainly not on her list of favorite things to do, she wouldn’t even call it interesting, but also, there was naught else for her to do. Naught else to do that she liked that would not draw the King’s eyes upon her, archery and riding were out of discussion, at least for some time, and if she had to be sincere with herself, her mood was not exactly blooming. 

So she concentrated on the seamstress’ detailed work, on how the woman tried to cover Ashara’s pronounced chest with the silks to a height she knew the dornish woman would not exactly appreciate. And just as she predicted, Ashara lowered the silks with her delicate hands, forming a deeper cleavage with the fabric, mouth twisted in a grimace. “Gods be good, I’m not to become a septa” she groaned, gaining a well enough veiled look of consternation from the seamstress.

“You are aware that you will soon no longer fit in those dornish dresses of yours though” Lyanna observed with amusement, a wry smile on her face much to Ashara’s annoyance. If only the whole situation was not so amusing as it was, maybe then, she would’ve been able to hide her smile. 

Ashara’s pregnancy was no longer a secret, it became a scandal, actually. One her father was not particularly pleased with, but he’d do just fine. So the woman’s new duty was to begin her life as a woman with child, her middle thickening each passing day. A shy, yet slightly visible curvature was already swelling the dornish beauty’s belly. 

“I know. There’s a reason why I’m standing here now. But there’s no need to wreath me up in fabric either” Ashara complained with a concerned grimace on her face,  the expression, far from being serious to Lyanna, was rather comical. 

“Talking about exaggeration…” Lyanna deadpanned from her spot in the tabouret, winning a lifted eyebrow from her friend, and finding nothing odd in the poor seamstress’ work. Told to be truth, she still felt quite uncomfortable in her southron dresses, that sometimes showed more than she was willing to. What would Ashara say if she had to use one of her northern dresses? She would be displeased, for sure. 

“I’m just not ready yet to look like an upholstered, pregnant ball. That’s all” Ashara deadpanned, her eyes widening slightly just half a second later, pink dusting her cheeks before she cleared her throat “So, what news do you have from your father?” she quickly changed the subject. 

“You don’t need to do that, Ash” Lyanna plainly commented, her sensibility was surely not hurt, but only to humor Ashara and avoid the already overly-commented topic, she replied next “Ned says he’s in good health. Are you going to accept his offering?” _That’ll do._ Since everyone seemed to be walking on egg shells around her lately. 

The woman suddenly looked taken aback, her eyebrows arching high in her forehead, and her eyes filled with confusion “What? Well, I-I…” _Yes. It served fine._ “I don’t know. I’d be more comfortable raising the babe myself” she admitted nervously, losing her composure for a moment in which the woman working on her had to stop for her to regain her earlier posture “I don’t know, Lya”

“Well, if you ask me, you should accept. Carrying the name ‘Stark’ will do no harm” she shrugged, while Ashara disposed the several needles and fabric off of her body with utter care, handing them to the seamstress. “What if they want him or her to be raised in Winterfell? What if Brandon returns and…?” 

The question was left adrift, a silent sprawl taking it’s place, wether it was because Ashara saw the unprovability of Brandon returning, Lyanna could not say. Nobody had heard of him for months anyway. “They wouldn’t do that” Lyanna said, trembling thoughts all of the sudden. At least, they would never do that to separate a babe from her mother. But if they wanted the babe to be a Stark, maybe her father would want it in Winterfell, to raise it as a Stark. “They wouldn’t separate a babe from his mother” she finally decided and sentenced, reassuring Ashara, and herself. 

Ashara’s face relaxed a little “I shall think about it. You shall still be his or her aunt, wether it carries your family name or not” the copper skinned woman concluded, a soft smile placed upon her lips. 

“Have you been feeling any changes now?” Lyanna asked curiously, resting her chin on her palm. The woman’s physical changes were still not too notorious, but her habits were another matter. 

Sometimes, she feared the woman would suffer from an indigestion from the big amounts of food she ate, _surprising_ amounts for a woman her size. 

“I can’t stop eating. Besides that and the big growing belly, not really. Even though, Arthur does seem even more annoying to me now. But maybe that’s just him being annoying” 

And Lyanna couldn’t help but to chuckle. The poor Arthur, almost chocked to death when he heard of his sister’s pregnancy, it would’ve been quite comical if it wasn’t for the blood thirsty look he had plastered on his face. Brandon would be much safer far away from King’s Landing, away from Dawn. 

“I can see that” she directed her gaze to the then empty plate of sweets resting upon a table. She had no restrictions when it came to them, she noticed. 

Ashara walked towards the young seamstress, as Lyanna tried to hold a yawn back and failed. “That will be all, Darla. Thank you” she thanked, and the seamstress left. Ashara closed the door behind her, a salty breeze that passed through the doors before they closed caressing Lyanna’s skin softly. 

“His Highness’ name day is approaching, isn’t it? Have you thought of a gift yet?” Ashara’s cheerful tone rang across the room as she took a seat next to Lyanna, a hand resting upon her slightly swollen belly “You’re growing fast, ain’t you?” she muttered sweetly as she stroked her middle.

Mildly distracted by Ashara’s motions and sweetness, Lyanna shook her head slightly. Truth to be told, she was clueless. “What does one give to somebody who already has it all?” She could hardly think of anything that could impress her husband. Why did he have to be such a difficult person to give a gift to? Unless she found a dragon of the likes of Balerion, she doubted there would be anything that could actually amuse him. 

“Well, I could give you a few suggestions His Highness would likely enjoy” the wicked smile on Ashara’s lips matched the very telling look in her eyes, and Lyanna felt the heat creeping up her pale cheeks. “Ashara!” she squeaked, much to the copper skinned woman’s amusement, that much was obvious by her reaction. 

“What? It would be a good gift!” she insisted, her mischievous smile widening once again, those carved dimples of her appearing on her lovely face. 

With her cheeks still feeling warm, Lyanna’s lips parted in order to produce a sound, anything really, but nothing more than a few faltering sounds left them before the bold suggestions of the Dayne lady. The notion was not at all foreign to her, in fact, it’d be something he would enjoy just as much as she would. “It would” she admitted, biting her tongue at the end of the sentence, while the most indecent thoughts crossed her mind “But _besides_ that… I need to find aught more” 

Ashara sighed, resting her chin upon the palm of her hand. “I can help to look” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“They are all scheming… All of them” the King’s murmurs were like haunted whispers that repeated themselves over and over again, the man’s voice sounded frightened, small, low and suspicious. “They want to take me away” he had murmured too, and he could only share a look in silence with the young Lannister cub near him. If that boy had ever dreamed of being a ‘honorable knight’, the King probably killed the good in those fantasies by making him a pawn in one of his many ridiculous attempts to mock or humiliate the proud Lord Tywin Lannister. Did the boy know about the insults? He probably did, everyone had heard of The King’s repeated insults towards his ex-Hand. But he could not tell, since he could not read those emerald green eyes. Only sometimes, they would widen with something he could not quite place at the sight of people being burned alive, or at the screams that used to come from the Queen’s chambers, and it was then that he realized how very young the Lannister boy really was. 

In that moment, the expression of Jaime Lannister went from dull and bored, to a concerned consternation shared with Arthur, but back to being bored after the sounds coming from the King stopped. So much for his knighthood.  

As for him, the King and his murmurs did not really concern him, not more than usual, but something else, or rather _someone_ else did. 

He had never seen Rossart so active before. The King’s pyromancer was a pretty good reason to be wary, specially since the monarch and the pyromancer seemed to be cut from the very same cloth, and they both had in their hands ridiculous amounts of power. Sometimes he had to wonder if the Gods were mocking them all. And in that moment, while Aerys was still whispering to himself, smiling and scowling on and off, Rossart’s eyes would follow his every movement, and he was sure, they both shared twisted looks of understanding that he found more perturbing than anything else. 

Arthur had been busy taking care of Lyanna, but the days in which he oughted to be keeping the King from any harm along with his brothers, Rossart, the pyromancer, would linger around with disturbing energy, sharing whispers with the King, glistening eyes coming alive with dancing excitement whenever he was sent on one of his ‘secret missions’. It could not be good, any of it. Even less if a man -was he still a man?- like Varys The Spider often looked troubled at Rossart’s presence. 

Something was brewing there, _trouble_ was brewing. But to try to find out would be very much as putting a leash around his neck and beg to die. The King was suspicious even of flies lately, and perhaps, he had reasons to. Indeed, he had, when his own heir was scheming to overthrow him, and that one of his own Kingsguards was more than willing to help. 

“They won’t take me anywhere. Darklyn did it, and he died, yes…” the King’s erratic whispers kept flooding the throne room, and with the mention of Lord Darklyn of Duskendale, it was more than obvious that their King was no longer in the present, but suffering from one of his regressions to the past.

 _If only things had gone otherwise a few years back._ Arthur couldn’t help but to lament internally, avowing such a fact. But there was no good in thinking of the roads not taken. Selmy himself had developed doubts about his own actions, often wondering if wether Aerys’ death in the power of Lord Darklyn, and Rhaegar’s ascent to the throne would not have spared the realm much suffering. _And it would’ve._

Focusing his eyes on any mildly interesting spot in the throne room, which was not hard to find, considering that the dragon skulls adorning the stance always seemed the most curious things for him to watch, he suppressed a weary sigh. In the end, he suspected he held the very same bored and dull mask Ser Jaime carried. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She pushed a few blonde strands back from her son’s face, his small face resting peacefully, half sank into the pillow, almond shaped eyes closed, and his breathing slow and calmed. Viserys had never been a quiet child like Rhaegar had, he was the Keep’s own earthquake, some said, the boisterous princeling. But he was so calmed and quiet in his sleep, unlike his brother, who as a child, always had trouble sleeping. _Like day and night._

Her thin fingers traced the line of her slightly bulged abdomen upon the fabric of her gown, wondering if this one would be a boy like her other sons, or if it would be a sweet girl. A somber part of herself wondered if it would live, tainting it all dark. _Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys._ All of them, dead. 

A soft knock on the door made her slim frame jump, her eyes, alert, went quickly to the source of the sound, tensing briefly when thinking that lately, her only allowed visits were those of his husband. But the knock coming from him, was unlikely. The King did as he pleased, he didn’t need to ask for permission. “Who is this?” she asked in a hushed tone, looking back at Viserys to make sure the dragonling hasn’t woken up. 

“Rhaegar, mother” her eldest son’s voice rang from the other side of the wooden doors.

She quickly stood from her spot and directed herself to the entrance of her chambers, opening her doors for her son to come in. 

“Rhaegar” she called her son inviting him in. Her son stepped in, tall and regal, behind him, the silhouettes of the Kingsguards guarding her chambers got lost as she closed the door behind him. 

“Mother” he hugged her, leaning towards her and bending slightly for his head to rest on her shoulder. After days of his arrival, it was the first time he visited her. She was well aware that it was her husband’s doing, not lack of will from her son. “I can finally see you” he spoke softly, loosening the embrace. 

She offered him a small smile, it was all she could offer at the moment. “How have you been, my son?” Rhaella’s eyes lingered upon her son’s face, analyzing him, trying to read those dark orbs that sometimes could be so very telling. 

“Fine now that I can see you” he smiled, his eyes lowering to her swollen belly, a glint of fleeting joy infused with faint sadness dancing in them. Oh, how familiarized was she with the feeling. “I’m so sorry for you and Lyanna, son.” she told him softly. 

“I am too, mother” he scowled, his lips pressed together formed a thin line “Lyanna is upset. She tries to hide it, but I fear she blames herself for it” 

Only natural, she knew. After Shaena, after Daeron, after Aegon and Jaehaerys, Gods… She started blaming herself after the first one without even actually having done anything that could be considered dangerous for a pregnant woman. She could imagine the girl’s feelings. “Let her endure her grief, Rhaegar. Be there for her, support her, but be aware that you will not be able to sooth her mourning even if you try”

Rhaegar sighed, his arms fell to his sides. “I know”. Her son’s eyes went to his brother, Viserys, still sleeping and lost in the world of dreams as the soft breeze of the sea of King's Landing whistled in the fresh air of the night. “Mother” he called, his voice acquiring a stronger tone. Suddenly, a shiver ran across her spine. 

“What is it, Rhaegar?” she asked. The posture he adopted, the iron tone in his voice. Gods, she knew her son just too well to know there was something coming. 

“I need to tell you something, it is most important that you listen to me carefully” he spoke, and her heart trembled with fear. It could not be good, all that secrecy, all that seriousness, all that _boldness_ she had been witnessing lately in him. She could sense it in her bones. “Don’t frighten me, Rhaegar” she almost begged, feeling her temple pounding. 

“Do not fret, mother. Everything will be alright.” he began, and next, his voice lowered it’s volume considerably “In a few moon turns, something is gonna happen. I don’t want you, Viserys or Lyanna here. I know I can send Lyanna to Dragonstone without major problems. I will try to send you and Viserys to Dragonstone too, but I’m worried that _the King_ won’t allow it” her breathing became irregular, and her heart was thundering in her chest. _Gods, Gods, what is this? What are you gonna try to do, my boy?_  

“If that happens, I need you safe, somehow, no matter what. Tell me, does anyone else, besides you, know about the passage you used to visit Lyanna the other day?” with her lips parted in disbelief, she stood frozen for a few seconds, the soft whistle of the wind giving her chills and leaving her deaf, until she finally reacted. “Rhaegar, what in the Gods’ name are you trying to do?!” she whispered harshly, her son’s face remained stoic “You need to trust me, mother” he replied. 

“But I do!” her voice elevated a little, perhaps more than she had wanted “I trust you, Rhaegar. But I don’t trust your father! He’s-“ she struggled, she had never wanted to speak ill of him in front of her children, ever, even if there was no way to hide the sun with a thumb, if only not to hurt them “He’s a monster, Rhaegar. I fear for you” 

He certainly did not look surprised, but rather impatient. “Mother, please… Answer my question. I can take care of myself” 

Feeling the upcoming headache, she massaged her temple and closed her eyes. “Only me, and my handmaiden, Yara. Varys, I know he knows those passages perfectly well too…” she whispered, feeling her heart shrinking in fear. 

“Keep it that way. Nothing bad should happen. But if there is a battle and you are still here, Arthur and Gerold will escort you and Viserys through the passages and take you to Blackwater bay. You shall board a ship and remain there, guarded by those loyal to me, until the fuss has passed”

Rhaella sat down on the edge of her bed, feeling dizzy, her hands shaking, and her gaze went to Viserys. The small princeling slept placidly, ignorant of his mother’s sudden desperation and angst, and his brother's plot. Her eyes went straight to Rhaegar again. Never before she had wanted to slap her eldest son. That, was indeed, the first time in her life. 

How could he ask her to remain calmed when he was telling her he was about to initiate a rebellion? How was she supposed to keep her composure when her eldest boy was playing with fire, putting his precious life in danger. His head could decorate a spike in the wall of that Keep if he kept playing that game, and she would not be able to endure it. She would rather die burned alive than to let Aerys pluck one strand of hair from her children. 

“Son, Rhaegar…” her voice was small, and he kneeled in front of her, holding her hands in his strong ones, his expression one of deep concern “Please, don’t commit a folly. Your father, he’s old and he-“ Gods, how she wished Aerys could just drop dead in that very moment and give her the reason. 

“Please, mother…” 

“He’s old, he’s weakening, just wait until he-“

“He will outlive us all, mother!” a sour laughter accompanied his words, and she could not recognize her Rhaegar underneath all that bitterness “I won’t have it anymore. I’m tired of him, I’m sick of it. I will protect my family before he ends us all” 

Her heart ached. She would throw herself to the Seven Hells for her children, she’d do anything. A twisted, cold hearted idea crossed her mind. If only she wasn’t carrying, she would be capable of killing Aerys herself that very night, cut his throat with a knife, stab him on the back, anything, no matter what kind of faith would be expecting her after that, she would embrace it, all for her children. 

“Would you please trust me, mother?” having seen his mother’s desperate expression, his speech softened considerably. “Have you no faith in me? Do you think me a foolish boy that doesn’t know what he’s doing? I would _never_ endanger my family's life if there was a possibility of you ending up hurt” To be fair, her eldest son was bright. One of the brightest in the Seven Kingdoms, her uncle Aemon had said so many times. Trust him? With her life. Fear for him? That as well. But she had to avow, her ‘little boy’ was no longer little, and no longer a boy. He was a man, kneeling in front of her and asking her to trust him. 

Her heart squeezed painfully before speaking again. “I do, my son. I trust you” the next thing she felt, was his son’s embrace, his head resting in her lap, and as she caressed his blond hair softly with her fingers, she prayed to the Seven to protect her son no matter what, even if they had to take the life out of her in order to protect his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	39. A Lion's Scheme And A Dragon's Silence

“My Lord, Maester Pycelle sent a letter. It’s about…” she narrowed her eyes as a reflex, trying to listen to the dying sound of the man’s voice. _Come on, say something!_ “-says the King has been advised now and…” What in the Seven Hells was that man speaking about? Why did he have to talk so so low, as if he was praying? She could barely put the words together to actually create a decent sentence, something she could understand. Supposing, in such a talk, was not going to lead her anywhere. “-represents no problem now” the last part of it, it sounded clearer, louder. And then, nothing. Nothing else could be heard. At least not from her spot behind the closed doors of her father’s solar. 

She pushed her ear even more towards the wood, as if it could be even possible, ignoring the sounds coming from the other hallways, footfalls and familiar voices, those of her many servants. But even then, nothing else could be heard, only a small fragment of what she would describe as a blurry sentence “He says there is no risk if _they_ burn it after”. _Burn what?_ It was as if the damn man was whispering to her father on purpose. The man would speak loudly about battle plans, armies, executions, anything really, she knew since it was not the first time she spied on her father. But when it came to something she actually cared about, news from King’s Landing, news of what could represent her future, the crown, the damned man decided to keep his voice low. What could possibly be so secretive?

She suppressed a sigh of frustration, impatience had long ago rooted in her stomach.

Cersei made an unsatisfied grimace, her pretty lips pursed in displeasure while contemplating the long silence that followed. Why couldn’t her father just tell her? That would save her hours of listening behind closed doors, for sure. 

He said she needed to start acting like a woman, to stop her ‘ridiculous whims’, for she would be the key to put their family back on top of the power. _Something_ was brewing, that much she knew. The question was: How? The only pleasant way for her was one that died a long time ago.  

Her father had always wanted her betrothed to the prince, Gods be good, she herself was in love with the idea, with the handsome son of the King and his valyrian looks and his purple eyes. Her father, well, he was in love with the idea of a Lannister Queen and all the power the title came with. It was convenient, for him, for her, and Gods, even the Prince would be blessed to have her as a wife, she would be nothing but perfect. For her, being Queen, was an appended good to the perfect life that awaited her if she married _him,_ she was perfect for it. Of course, the whole dream, it did not last. Not since the mad old hag that sat on the Iron Throne refused the offer in the most humiliating fashion, spitting rejection towards the mighty House Lannister -just a proof of how mad he was- and just a few years later, sent his handsome son to look for the northern wench in that Gods’ forgotten place up north, and betrothed him to her. _What a sin. What a waste._

Then, how was she supposed to fit in her father’s plans? Unless of course he could convince the Prince to cast his wife aside once he became King, and married _her_. Cersei smiled, her teeth sinking in her lower lip from sudden desire, hope dancing furiously in her chest. She could even feel the sparks.

Her emerald eyes widened when the sound of her father’s stern voice rang through the closed doors. “Write back at him, he ought to keep us informed on Aerys’ every move. If he changes his mind, we will have to make some changes.” 

She did not understand one bit. Cersei was smart, she was. Her father’s odd gifts to the Prince, those talks behind closed doors in his solar, the ravens from King’s Landing. He himself told her that everything would change soon. _That I would be the key to power. How? How, father?_

“Yes, My Lord.” she heard, and then, just moments later, his footsteps. 

She grabbed fistfuls of her skirts, raising them while also moving her legs as fast and as silently as she could not to be caught listening to things she shouldn’t. In the end, she found the comfort of her chambers, and as she tried to ease her ragged breathing, she appreciated her very image in the mirror. A golden lioness.

 _Princess Cersei._ No. _Queen Cersei._ It was the only way. She smiled, and her delicate fingers combed her golden locks softly, placing them correctly. She would never settle for anything lesser than that, she shouldn’t accept anything less than she deserved after all. She was content with Jaime, she truly was. But Gods, maybe all that she always dreamt of was waiting for her ahead, and she could already listen to her future husband whispering loving words in her ear with that pleasant voice, and feel him placing soft kisses on her neck, and she had to hold her breath as she felt every hair in her stiffening in excitement. 

Those emerald eyes that were so much like hers, haunting her, they could wait. They could be forgotten. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thing was heavier than she thought, but it had to be, after all, she spent a small fortune on it. Maybe not so small. _A rare one._ Indeed, it was. 

Wrapped up in thick, crimson velvet, it’s pages were untouched, it’s old and mysterious content yet to be read by hungry eyes. In perfect shape,  it was a well kept treasure that was not even meant to exist anymore. But at least, one eluded Baelor I and his flames, across the narrow sea. 

A book about dragons, wyrms and wyverns. Gods, she almost gave up on her search. She even stepped into the library of the keep, under the raised eyebrow of the attendant and his surprised gaze, if only to ask wether such a book had ever touched those shelves or not, just to make sure that her book-eating husband hadn’t read it before. Luckily for her, he didn’t, and the attendant even told her it would be very rare to find one of those. But _unluckily,_ the damned book turned out almost impossible to find, and every single copy had, apparently, been burnt by Baelor I a long time ago.

But thanks to Ashara and some connexions she had, a copy ended up in her hands, ready to be delivered. She even felt proud of herself, she actually made it, she actually found something that could interest _him._ Honestly, her other options were not exactly as a bright or interesting. Valyrian steel? She suspected even the fork with which he ate was made of the rare material, and she had to roll her eyes at the thought. It wouldn’t do. 

She took a big breath in, and as she approached his solar, a proud smile peered from her lips. 

Without even knocking, she pushed the door softly, and the sight of her silver husband, quite engrossed in whatever he was writing on a blank piece of paper, greeted her. He had a scowl on his face, and his quill moved fast, leaving black traces of ink of what she knew was probably a very neat and regal script behind it, imprinted on the piece of paper. 

She took a few more seconds if only to appreciate the sight, and repressed the urge to chuckle at his extremely serious expression. He looked like he could be writing to the very Stranger, the way his eyebrows scowled, his tense mien. 

Instead of chuckling, she cleared her throat and knocked the door from inside, and the bewitching tension he seemed to be under broke instantly. He lifted his gaze, his eyes widened for a fleeting moment, and his surprised expression softened instantly when he found her form at the door frame. He put the quill aside, and a small lopsided smile adorned his face. “What are you doing here?” 

She smiled back, and approached him slowly. His eyes travelled from her figure to the bulge she was carrying,  until she reached him and sat atop the table in front of him, just inches away from his probably very important letter. The book rested on her lap. 

“’Tis a very special day. Where else could I be?” she questioned him, her legs hanging in the air. “And…” she trailed off as he grabbed her by the ankles and placed her legs upon his lap “I’ve something for you” 

“Really?” his eyes went once again to the wrapped book in her hands, even though, she wasn’t sure he could figure what it was out just yet. She nodded, and offered him the bulge, eyes filled with expectancy. 

He narrowed his eyes at it, he seemed puzzled, amused. He took it from her hands, unfolding the soft velvet that covered it gently, his dark, purple eyes admiring the content just like she knew they would. His first reaction made her feel even prouder than before, because a wide smile formed in those lips and his fingers traced the words in the cover of it. She could even caught that small glimpse of enthusiasm glinting in his eyes. “Where did you get it?” he asked while still inspecting it “These are impossible to find.” he grinned. 

“I suppose you like it, then” she bit her lip. 

“I love it” he smiled, placing the book upon the table, caressing the soft skin of her calves under the silks of her dress after. “You are amazing” he said before she leaned in and stole a kiss from him. 

“Well, I’m a motivated wife” she chuckled against his mouth, her wavy locks brushing against his face carelessly. 

“Lyanna Stark is a motivated wife, then” his voice sounded slightly incredulous, mocking even, and the  notion of it made her grin widely as she rose up to her feet only to land on his lap seconds later with his hands resting upon her hips. “Stop mocking me” she demanded in the most dignified voice she could produce. It was hard to keep it cool when his eyes were so inviting. 

She swallowed a heavy breath, the closeness between them making her dizzy. Gods, it was painful.  

Such was her relief when he finally pushed his lips against hers in a hungry kiss, that she had to hold a small moan back, her legs adopting a new position in order to sit astride him, the feeling of his grip tightening on her hips firing her up. 

The kiss broke and she, in the middle of that fervent trance, decided to bite the skin of his neck hungrily, digging her nails in his skin. Hearing his ragged breath and feeling his hands going beneath her skirts was doubtlessly the best reward, one that would take her to the very edge, and judging by his body’s reaction, he was very much in the same place as her. 

But when her hands left his neck and went down to his breeches, he stopped her before she could actually _do something_. Her fiery steely eyes snapped to his face, waiting for an explanation, and those indigo orbs could’ve simply set her ablaze, consume her. She moved again, rocking her hips against him as her hands tried to liberate themselves from his grip, her lips depositing soft kisses along his jaw. “Stop” his voice was husky, and his hands went back to her hips, this time, keeping her still, holding her strongly. Delightfully strong. 

Lyanna looked straight into his eyes, anxiety building up within her with each passing second. What was he waiting for? “What’s wrong?” she asked when he made no motion at all, his jaw clenched tight. She could just kiss it all over again. 

Rhaegar moved under her, accommodating himself in a more straight position. “I need to talk to you” 

He needed to _talk_   in that precise moment. Talking about wrong timing. 

“Immediately?” the urgency shamelessly poured from her voice, but she truly didn’t care. What could be so important anyway? “Are you serious?” she breathed. 

Her husband sucked a big whiff of air, as if he were trying to compose himself. His next choice of words, certainly did not help to cool her fire down. “You’ve no idea of how much I want to just take you right now, over this table, on the floor…” he paused then, licking his lips “But this is important, and you need to know… And you might not like it” 

She licked her lips too, probably as a reflex to his own actions, her sanity coming back to her, but still mixed with the incandescent desire. “Now you are frightening me” she muttered as she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to sober up.  

With his help, she got up from his lap, straightening the fabric of her skirts in the process. Rhaegar remained seated, trying unsuccessfully to hide the evidence of his arousal, clearing his throat seconds after, maybe to stop her from staring at _that_ specific point. 

She gulped then, and she was suddenly sober. “Gods, Rhaegar, speak” she urged him, and he looked away for a second or two before saying something. It was as if he was planning how to tell her whatever he wanted to tell her. 

Lyanna was never patient, it was definitely never one of her virtues. And in that very moment, the lack of such a virtue was killing her slowly, painfully. 

He stilled for a moment before speaking. “You’re going to Dragonstone.” his gaze was expectant upon her, as if he was waiting for her to react in a certain manner. And she truly didn’t understand. Was _that_ the reason why he’d stopped her before? Why was that a thing to fuss over?  

She sighed heavily, pressing her lips tightly into a thin line. “Fine. When are we leaving?” she asked impatiently, annoyance creeping up in her stomach. 

He scowled then, and gave her a look she certainly did not like nor understand. Whatever game he was playing, she was not enjoying it.  “You are going. I’m not” he clarified.

Once again, Lyanna found herself wrapped up in the most annoying confusion. “I… Shall wait for you there, then?” 

“No. You will remain there for a few moon turns, until I send for you” 

 _A few moon turns._ It came to her like a bath of cold water, smothering her previous fire and turning it into ice in the blink of an eye. A few moon turns, he said. “What?” the question made her feel suddenly stupid, so she opened her mouth once again in order to produce a better sentence, questions that could actually serve her “Why? Why can’t you come? And if so, why can’t I stay here with you?” 

Her husband kept looking up at her from his chair, his face was stern, as if he were ready to give her answers but yet, not to negotiate with her. “Because ’tis dangerous for you, Lyanna. I cannot… Tell you much more. ’Tis better for you this way.”

“Rhaegar… You can speak to me. Tell me what is happening. Why do I have to leave you? And if it’s dangerous, why would you send me away and stay here yourself?” 

Her words were followed by a long silence, at least to her. Something about his face, about the way he put his facade on the moment she asked about him staying, told her she wasn’t going to penetrate that damned thick wall he built around him in that very moment. “Because I have to be here. It’s my duty, Lyanna. But you will go, and you will stay there until I send for you”

At that, she frowned. Since when did he decide for her? Had he suddenly adopted the possessive and controlling character of the typical Lords, who commanded their wives as if they were nothing more than broodmares to be disposed of? “So I just have to go, without saying a thing? Will you not ask if I’m willing to go first?” her stare was daring, and she clenched her fists tightly, so tight her knuckles went white, but she had to do something to restrain herself from doing something stupid. _Good, Lyanna. Good._

“’Tis not your decision to make.” he sighed, his patience was crumbling to his feet, apparently “I’m not sending you away because I want to, understand that” he told her in the end, softening the tone in his voice. 

By then, the only desire she truly had, was to throw demand answers of him. 

“But I do understand… But you could at least speak to me, tell me why. Do you truly believe me so simple as to avoid the subject and accept it without objections? Do you believe me so cold not to worry over you when you tell me that staying here is dangerous?” 

He was struggling, that much she could tell from his expression, the tone of his voice, the despair in his eyes. “Never” he said as he stood from his chair, his hands reached hers, and caressed them gently “I’m trying to protect you. ’Tis better for you to remain in the dark when it comes to this. I don’t want you hurt” 

Lyanna felt her throat closing, her hands fisting again in his grip. “I have the right… To know. I’m not a stranger, Rhaegar. I’m your wife” 

In that moment, he looked away. She felt as if she could just demand an explanation of him. And in some way, she did. In a very subtle, and civil minded manner, she _did._

Those seconds, that small, yet infinite amount of time that passed, the unbroken silence, the lack of an answer from him. When he said nothing in reply and his gaze avoided hers once again, her arms fell to her sides. It was clear enough that he would not say a word to her, that stubborn fool. It’d be more productive to demand answers from a wall than to ask him for them. 

That undeniable disappoint felt too heavy. 

She kept her sight glued to the floor, frustration taking over her, slowly. But instead of shouting and fighting, instead of insisting, she coldly said: “Very well, then. I will go. You can do as you please.”

Without another word, she got herself loose from his grip and left the solar, quick and silent as a cold breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ba dum tss...
> 
> by the way, I can't believe this had reached more than a thousand kudos... and more than a thousand comments. WOW! You guys rock, thanks for your support and for bearing with me :D


	40. A Lull

His eyes narrowed involuntarily due to the lack of light in the chamber, darkness greeted him from every corner, the sepulchral silence made him think that even the fall of a pin would be too noisy for the place. 

When the doors closed behind him, amongst the dim and the scarce light that escaped from within the drapes’ ends, he recognized his father’s form in front of him, lying in bed, his head crooked to one side and his hands resting at his sides. 

The man was resting his head against the headboard, his long, disheveled hairs falling upon his shoulders ungraciously, and the dark, purple tunic he wore almost danced with every move of his broomstick like body. One could easily mistake the _King_ for a Flea Bottom’s beggar, the lack of ornaments did not help. 

“My son” his raspy voice rang across the stance, lavender eyes shining weakly with the mention. However, such words as ‘My son’ made one of his eyebrows go high up in his forehead. Since when did his father say such words without an ounce of mockery of despise?  

But looking at the man in front of him, Rhaegar had to admit: The man looked like he was in his most vulnerable state. Aerys was not even the shadow of what he used to be many years ago. Thin and sick, with more wrinkles and lines in his skin than he should have, at least for his age. The King’s mental disease was also consuming his body, not only his mind. 

It was in times like that that his will wavered, wondering if he truly needed to act as he was willing to, if he truly needed to take his father’s throne at force, when there was so little remaining of him. The man looked like he was on his death bed.  

Then again, Aerys looked weak, sick, thinner every day, aye. But that did not stop him from torturing, killing, hurting, and his mother’s sad eyes haunted him once again. 

He straightened in his position, as if the earlier notion made him put his feet on the ground once again “Father” Rhaegar approached his father’s bed, taking a chair in his way, to put it near the bed, facing the man. 

Aerys’ eyes followed his every move, and as he sat down, he could still feel his stare upon him. 

The King shifted in his position, his expression, strangely, carried a pinch of tranquility, which to Rhaegar, was beginning to be slightly alarming. His father’s moods were as uncertain as the weather, and if the man could easily be so calmed and collected in that very moment, his madness could just snap from one moment to another. He ought to be careful. 

“You haven’t visited me in a while, boy” the King claimed. He saw the man very often. What in the seven hells was he speaking of. 

It was probably one of his many delusions, and even though they were often strange, that day, his father was in a particularly odd mood. 

“We do meet almost every day, father” Rhaegar shifted in the chair, and the man in front of him lowered his gaze to his bony hands, as if contemplating what he had just said. Before the sight of such a vulnerable old man, he prompted himself not to forget the main reason for his actions, that he was not simply acting out of greed for a crown, but for the sake of others. If someone pushed him to it, it was Aerys himself. It did not make him feel better though, at least not with such an image before him. 

“Aye, we do” acknowledgment came dully from his mouth. “To what do I owe the visit, then?” 

Rhaegar draw breath in. “I wanted to ask permission to send my wife to Dragonstone, Your Grace” and then, he only awaited. 

Aerys’ eyes met his in the middle of the darkness, his eyes flashing with suspicion. “Why?” the man almost chocked on the question, his stare hardening with every passing second. But of course, he had gone prepared to answer whatever question his father asked. 

“Dragonstone is where I ought to live as Crown Prince, is it not? I wanted to send her so she can already set the preparations and get to know the castle, while I leave everything in order here before my departure from King’s Landing.” That explanation would be enough. As far as he knew, the King wanted him as far away as possible from his Red Keep, from the realm’s eyes. He wanted to eliminate any possible threat for his crown, any competition he could have. In that case, his own son. 

Aerys remained silent for a few seconds, but Rhaegar could already make the approval out of his father’s mouth. He had no reason to maintain Lyanna in King’s Landing, after all. Of course, he had thought of the possibility of the King denying his request in a paranoid fashion, but then again… To Aerys, to have his son so close for the people to compare them, was most threatening. Specially after the many comments traveling around Westeros, supporting the Crown Prince’s claim to the throne, some even begging so it would happen soon. Such words were prohibited, were treachery, and if anyone was brave or stupid enough to shout it from the hills, the King had a solution: Get their tongues removed. 

Aerys made a humming sound. “No” plain and simple, and frustrating as well. 

“No?” Rhaegar narrowed his eyes “May I ask why is Your Grace denying my petition?” 

Aerys’ eyes thundered in displeasure before he spoke once again. “Your wife is as useless as your mother. She would knock your keep down within a fortnight if you leave her alone. Her place is here, she’s only fit for the bedchamber. And besides…” the King trailed off, his tone elevating to the very same he used in the throne room “She is a Stark. A treasonous Stark. She will remain here, where I can properly watch her every move”  

He gritted his teeth so tightly, he thought he might break them. “Very well, then” he used the most calmed tone in his arsenal. There was no use in arguing with the King, the more one tried to change his mind, the more he rooted for whatever wretched decision he had made. And if he didn’t even allow Lyanna to leave, he would just _never_ allow Rhaella and Viserys. 

He would have to find another way to keep Lyanna away from danger.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A soft movement in her belly made her put the needle, hoop and thread aside. She placed her hand gently upon her swollen belly, smiling at it, and expectant to feel it once again. As she rubbed her belly, another soft kick could be felt. That babe of hers understood her wishes, and once again, she smiled as a warm feeling spread through her chest.

So far, the pregnancy had been gentle, and apparently, so was her babe.  

“Did it move?” Lyanna’s big, curious eyes were fixed on her, the hoop and the needle still between her mistreated fingers. Embroidery was not exactly for her. 

Rhaella nodded, giving her a grin. “Aye” 

Lyanna’s smile widened “Can I feel it?” the northern girl asked, hesitant to leave her spot in front of her, expectant eyes waiting for approval. 

“Now it stopped. But when it moves again, I’ll let you know” the Targaryen Queen proposed, and the she-wolf nodded in agreement, a sweet little smile crossing her face while she returned to her task, and once again struggled against the needle. No wonder her fingers were so reddish and poked.

A few days ago, her son’s wife insisted on accompanying her, even if it meant to do the most tedious tasks. Or at least, tasks she considered tedious. One of them: embroidery. 

At first, she was surprised. She knew the girl held her in great affection, and so did she. She considered Lyanna a daughter, a daughter she was happy to guide and protect if needed. But Rhaella knew that Lyanna Stark would rather swallow venomous spiders over staying inside embroidering, or writing poetries with her ladies. It could be that she was worried about her health, since her delicate pregnancies were no secret to anyone anymore, or it could be that she was avoiding something, or mayhap, _someone._  

Lyanna let a whine out and whispered a curse she could not properly hear when the needle poked the skin of one of her fingers once again, a thin, crimson droplet pouring from the skin. The girl took the bloody finger to her mouth, sucking it slightly to sooth the pain, an indignant puff pushing past her lips. 

“You will end up like a strainer, my dear. Be gentle with the needle, and it shall be gentle to you” the advise was accompanies by a soft, friendly chuckle. Lyanna manipulated the needle as if she was manipulating a sword. Quick, hard, merciless. 

Lyanna hummed in return, sighing in apparent defeat. “Embroidery has never been one of my talents” the girl admitted, showing to her with raised eyebrows the crooked figure of what was supposed to be a rose in the middle of her hoop, a red thread bleeding out of one of the irregular ends. 

“You can learn. Whatever you want to do, if you put your mind and effort on it, you can achieve it” Rhaella offered kindly, aware that, at the moment, the girl’s mind was probably not at all in that room. 

She was far too experienced not to notice when something was wrong with her sons. Or daughter, for that matter. “But if you’re mentally wandering somewhere else, my sweet…” Rhaella gave her a knowing look, and Lyanna lowered her gaze. A confirmation. “Is something bothering you?” the Queen asked as she adopted a more comfortable position in her chair, her back flat against the back of the chair.

Lyanna Stark could be very good at many things, for sure. Lying, or hiding her feelings, well… That, she was bad at. And from the very first time she saw her, she could tell. 

It wasn’t that she had a special talent for reading people, no. It was that Lyanna was easy to read, like an open book, specially for those that were willing to read with curious eyes. As soon as something bothered her, saddened her, angered her, one could easily tell. One could either consider it a lovely feature, proof of her honest nature, or a clumsy flaw of hers. To Rhaella, it was just a sweet proof of the girl’s naivety. But considering that she was living in the capital, it could be considered a quite inconvenient feature. 

“No” she denied, hesitance escaping her denial. “I mean…” the she-wolf quickly added, trailing the end off. The poor thing looked so confused. And the girl, despite being an open book regarding her instant emotions, was not one to be plaguing others with what she probably considered unnecessary problems. After all, ever since she got there, she had not once complained about anything. 

Rhaella, feeling her confusion, tried to sooth her as she could. “You can speak freely. I would never betray your trust, my girl” 

Lyanna looked up at the Queen, blinking a few times “I know” she timidly said, giving herself a few moments before speaking again. The girl took a puff of air, until she finally let it out. “Why would you lie to someone you love?” 

The question remained hanging in the air for a few seconds, and before saying anything, the Queen tried to understand such a question coming from her. Was she speaking of Rhaegar? Most likely. Those two had been inseparable, until a week ago. But she thought it was just a silly fight, since they both were so young and inexperienced. 

“Has my son lied to you?” The Queen asked.

Lyanna looked slightly taken aback, as if she was not expecting the mention of the man. But Rhaella told her, she could speak freely, she would not judge “Well, n-no. But he’s hiding something from me. He won’t tell me. He just… Wants to send me away” 

Lyanna looked away.

Rhaella, for her part, knew exactly what his son was hiding from his wife. She knew he was doing right by hiding whatever he had in mind from her, it was a dangerous game the one her son was playing, after all. Not even she was aware of what he was going to do, but she had a suspicion. Yet, a part of her thought that it was not fair to hide such a thing from the ones who loved him the most, who cared for him the most. 

She loved her sons more than anything in the world, and apparently, Lyanna loved him and cared for him too, in another fashion, of course, but it could be with the very same intensity. She could perfectly understand the girl’s uneasiness if it came to such a matter, because she herself felt it. 

Rhaella sighed, an involuntary grievance from her soul it was “Sometimes, my dear… We must hide things from the ones we love, not because we want to, but because we must do it in order to protect them”

“He said that. But it feels like he does not trust me like he should.”

“I believe he does.” she smiled at the girl in front of her. Rhaella knew Rhaegar like the palm of her hand, and Gods be good, her son adored the girl “And he loves you and worries over you so much, that he’s afraid of putting you in a dangerous position” 

“I understand… But it is terribly frustrating. If there is danger, I don’t want him to take risks either. What if…” she trailed off, afraid of her next words. The Gods knew Rhaella’s heart skipped a beat whenever she thought on the matter too. She felt like she could just jump out of a window, straight to the rocky bottom of the sea whenever she thought of things going wrong. “What if something bad happens” Lyanna finished the sentence she was so afraid of. 

If something went wrong, she would simply die. She would not be able to bear her son’s dead. Ever. 

Rhaella pushed the grim thought away. She had to trust her son. He was bright, he was clever, everything his father was not. And the fortune had always smiled at him. Everything would be fine. She felt it in her heart, despite the motherly worry misting through. “The Gods forbid it, Lyanna. We must have faith, my dear” Was she trying to comfort Lyanna, or herself? Both, probably. 

A strong kick from within her belly made her jump, and she instantly looked down, her lips parted in surprise. “The babe agrees, Lyanna.” she smiled to the she-wolf, and the girl rushed to her side, kneeling next to her and placing her hand gently upon her belly. 

The babe kicked once again, and Lyanna took one of her hands to her mouth, covering her wide grin with it. “It’s moving!” she excitedly pointed out. 

“Can you feel it?” Rhaella moved her hand to where she thought the next kick would be, dragging Lyanna’s hand along with hers. The next movement, was softer, but yet palpable. “Hello there, little one” Lyanna murmured to her belly, and both her hands were already cupping it tenderly. 

During a small lull, Lyanna remained silent, smiling softly yet slightly sadly at her swollen abdomen, and Rhaella knew. 

“It seems the babe went to sleep again” the Queen mentioned, calling Lyanna’s attention. “Shall we go for a walk? I need to stretch my legs, and your fingers certainly need a well-deserved rest” 

Lyanna nodded, and with a most sweet smile, helped to get on her feet, ready to accompany her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“This is ridiculous, Arthur” Jon Connington whined, and Arthur successfully suppressed his desire to roll his eyes in annoyance. What a repetitive fellow that one was. “Now that the King has denied his petition, who knows what he will want to do. All because of some wretched feeling he surely likes to call love. So much for one of the brightest minds in the Seven Kingdoms…” 

And then, Arthur just could not help himself. Jon Connington kept trying to pull his tongue loose, and he succeeded. “I would say, my friend, let no man mock over what touches thousands of men. Time and again, even the wisest surrenders against beauty.” 

Jon Connington’s face went a bright red. There was no objection, and if he could find at least one, it would probably be an absurd one. Arthur was sure that, if he let the loud laughter he wanted to produce in that very moment, the red headed man in front of him could just explode in ire. “I did not know one could so easily lose the wit over a good laid” he said with a hint of nuisance, throwing his hands in the air helplessly. 

Arthur could not think clearly. Was it all just because things hadn’t gone the way he had planned them? Or was he truly infatuated with Rhaegar as many claimed, and that was just a twisted manner of showing it? He preferred the first option, for sure. That was the one he wanted to believe. Besides, sometimes, Jon seemed to be too squared to understand anything at all about relationships, even less about love. 

“You do not understand, do you?” Arthur finally laughed, much to Jon’s annoyance. It was already his turn to be annoyed, it was only fair, for he had to put up with his repetitive complains over and over again “Lucky are the fools like you, Jon, who remain unmoved, free from love’s pleasant binding” Arthur denied with his head, but with a grin on his lips.

Jon snorted. “Aye, I am lucky for I have not lost my wit to a woman” 

That being said, Arthur had to use all of his will power not to burst in laugh. He certainly did not lost his wit to a woman, he probably lost it to a man. The sharp tongues said so. 

Only a few moments later, before that odd conversation could keep going, Rhaegar emerged from the hallway, approaching them with long strides. 

Jon Connington rushed his words, before Rhaegar reached them “Rhaegar… About your wife, I suggest you to-“

However, the Prince raised a hand, and Jon Connington went silent immediately. Rhaegar looked at both Arthur and Jon before speaking. “I found a solution. I need to inform Mace Tyrell of a minor change in the plans” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! :) Sorry for the delay, I've been obsessing over a show in Netflix and I just couldn't stop.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this. Babies are coming in a few chapters :)


	41. About Unspoken Things

She couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed by Ashara’s screams. She was. The smell of blood heavy on her nostrils, and even when Ashara’s grip on her hand was extremely tight, so tight it actually hurt, she never let her hand go. The baby was early, the maester said. Almost too early, and her heart skipped a beat the moment she could find the danger under those simple, recited lines. 

Ashara cried in pain once again, and she could only whisper encouraging words in her ear as the maester kept telling her to push mercilessly, the septas rushing around the room with bloody cloths and more water. 

“One more push, my lady. It’s almost over” the maester urged her, and Ashara’s sweaty face transformed into the most painful expression she had ever seen, tears peeking from the corners of her eyes as she gave Lyanna one distressed look. Lyanna was sure that, was it not for the cloth trapped in her mouth, she would’ve ended with broken teeth. 

The woman pushed, eyes tightly shut, small drops of sweat rolling down her copper skin, accompanied by a painful grunt. It was taking so long. And there was so much blood.  

The moment in which Ashara’s hold on her hand loosened, a shrill cry came from between her legs, and soon after, the maester was already holding a blood-bathed, tiny baby in his hands. Lyanna felt as if all of the air had left her lungs at the sight. 

“It’s a girl, my lady” the maester said, still holding the baby in his experienced arms, the sound of Ashara’s sobbing laughter accompanied the baby’s cries for just a moment. 

The baby continued crying in a septa’s arms then, the woman was already wrapping her in cloth, and approaching the bed to pass it to the proud new mother. Good Gods, Lyanna felt as if she could just join them and start crying at any moment. That was her niece. Her blood. Could it be that, with just one look at that tiny creature, she was already bonding? But it was not surprising. _She_ was the daughter of her most loyal friend and her beloved brother. Brandon didn’t even know what he was missing.  

Ashara started moaning in pain once again right before the septa deposited the baby in her arms. There was something wrong. The woman’s face told her that much when she crossed a wary glare with the maester. Ashara started squirming in the bloody bed, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets with strength. “It hurts!” she shouted, and a loud cry followed. 

“What is wrong?!” Lyanna demanded to know.  

The maester took his position between Ashara’s legs once again, the glint of experience flashing briefly in his old face. “There’s another.” The old man told to the septa standing next to him. The woman then rushed to get more cloth and water. 

Lyanna threw a desperate glance towards the man who did not even lifted his gaze to speak, too concentrated on the second birth that was about to take place. Gods, Ashara was so tired. “You’ll have to keep pushing, my lady” The urgency in his voice made Lyanna hold Ashara’s hand once again, she was aware that she would have to go through all process once again. She only hoped that her friend still had the energy to go through it.  

_Two, there are two._

“It will be alright, Ash. Now push” she cleared her face of some wet locks sticking to it, and Ashara gave her a nod, before arching her back and pushing once again, a grunt leaving her lips. 

 

With every push, Ashara’s breathing seemed weaker and weaker, but not her screams, and certainly, not her spirit. Her energy was fading, but not her will. _Gods. Gods._ She had to be strong, she _was_ strong. However, something in the back of her mind reminded Lyanna of her own mother, who already rested in the glory of the Gods, and she found herself mentally praying for the life of the woman in front of her in the middle of the chaos. She had to resist. She had to. 

And as if the Gods themselves had answered her prayers, only moments after, another cry could be heard in the room. A weaker one. 

It was over.

The second baby was already there, just like the first one, bloody and crying in the middle of a cold room that smelled so much like blood.  

“Another girl” the maester announced, and Lyanna felt her heart beating fast in excitement. 

“Ashara, your-“ when she looked down at the woman, her eyes were closed, her hold on her hand, long gone. The only thing that eased the sudden despair that had accommodated in Lyanna’s stomach, was the slow up and down of Ashara’s chest. She resisted. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Big grey eyes were staring back at her, Brandon’s eyes. 

The babies, they were identical. They were twins. Both with Stark eyes that reminded her so much of Brandon, thin, raven hair crowning their heads, and maybe, just maybe, a pinch of Ashara’s beautiful coloring in their skin. But it was still too early to tell, so she would have to wait and see. 

One of them was sleeping comfortably in the small crib, her little hands fisting softly, each one at one side of her head. The other one, was wide awake, looking up at the ceiling with those grey pools, not even making a sound.  

“Aren’t you a beauty?” she murmured softly to the quiet babe in the crib, caressing a tiny hand with her fingers. She was beautiful. And she had spent only a few minutes with them and had already found herself in love with her nieces. And to think that she could’ve had one of her own. Would she ever let it go? “I still wonder what your cousin would’ve looked like” her smile faded a little, she knew the thought would always pain her a little. “I will teach you to ride and to fight when you grow up. And your mother will want to kill me for teaching you. But it will be our little secret for a while” 

The babe, nescient of her silly words and occurrences, kept staring blankly at the ceiling, making a small noise as a response. “Your aunt Lyanna is a little different, you see” she chuckled, as if her niece could understand her.  

“A little?” his voice made her turn around instantly. 

Rhaegar was standing in the doorframe, as always, regally silent in his movements, so silent she never even heard him coming. 

“It is rude to spy on other people’s conversations, Your Highness” she gave him a cold glare. Hopefully, the gesture was as blood freezing as she expected it to be. 

“That was not a conversation, lady wife, it was a monologue” he grinned. Apparently, it wasn’t. “Come with me, please. I need to speak to you” 

It was curiosity that led her to follow him to his solar. After the ‘fight’ they had, it was the first time he approached her. At least, alone. Their interactions in public became pure formalities, more than anything, and it pained her. But what could she do? If the man overmatched a mule in terms of stubbornness. Of course, she herself was not far behind, and there was their predicament. 

Now, for the first time in weeks, he wanted to have a real interaction. 

He closed the doors of his solar behind them, that place she hadn’t seen for weeks. It looked the same, it smelled the same, of ink and him. 

She remained in her position, standing in the middle of the room, expecting to hear something from him. Expecting to hear those words that would send her to Dragonstone in the blink of an eye. She could already see herself aboard a ship, and Gods, she would be so angry at him. 

“I miss you” He said instead, getting closer to her. His scent was the same, intoxicating. She noticed the shade of a light-colored beard on his face. Odd, given his usual polished appearance, but she found she liked it anyway. “I know you’re still mad at me.”

“I am” she replied in the coolest voice she could produce. But how hard it was to keep her cold facade when her anger had been long mitigated by a sense of disappointment, and all she wanted to do was to demand answers. 

“I know. And I’m sorry”  

“You could have told me. You could trust me, and I would help you, and I would support you in whatever you are doing” 

He stiffened in his spot. His reactions, his stubbornness, all of it only contributed to her suspicion. The words of the Queen resounded in her head. She had been wondering during all of those weeks if she knew. 

“You’re not going to Dragonstone.” he said shortly after “The King forbid it.” 

She could not say she was not disappointed by the reason behind. The King had decided not to send her, not him. “What are you going to do with me, then?” 

“I will tell you the truth”

She looked incredulously at him, as the pit of her stomach contracted. “Then, tell me. Now. What is the truth?” 

He sighed heavily, he was tense, she could see. Whatever it was he had to tell her, she was sure could not be so bad. It couldn’t be. But what came next, she never expected. “I will overthrow my father” 

And everything stopped for a second. She held her breath, light-headed, with her blood freezing. Had he lost his mind? Was he jesting? It certainly was not funny. 

His eyes were inspecting her every move, even when there was none. Her face, on the other side, was surely very telling, for he scowled deeply. “That’s why I wanted you far away. Do you understand now?” 

She did not. She did not understand, at all. “H-How? When?” was all Lyanna managed to say, somehow, in the middle of the shock that struck her all at once. 

“A moon turn. Two at the latest.” he murmured. 

A million possibilities of everything that could go wrong went through her head, every scenario, every scene, all of them ended up with his head upon the Keep’s walls. Or even worse, and the memory of the smell of burnt flesh made her shiver. She took his hand in hers. Gods, he could not be serious. “This is madness. I’m scared”

“And you should be” he said, and Lyanna thought that he did not understand her meaning. She was scared because he could lose his head because of it all. Couldn’t he see? “You must follow my instructions, so I can take you out of here in case something goes wrong” ‘ _Something goes wrong’ as in, you ending up dead._  

She squeezed his hand. “What about you?” 

He wet his lips, his eyes lingering upon her. Gods. “I must be here when it happens. You know that” 

And she felt a pinch in her chest, as if someone was pocking her with tiny, pointy needles. He could not do that to her. “I don’t want you to…” her voice sounded, surprisingly, small. 

He took a step closer, his hand rested on her shoulders. Could he feel how her blood froze? She could. “But I have to. Listen to me. When the time comes, Arthur will be with you. He will guide you and protect you. He will take you to a ship, along with my mother, Viserys, Ashara and your nieces. You must promise me that you will do as you’re told, no matter what” 

Lyanna was unable to produce any sound. Not even with the urge in his stare, not even with the slightly increasing pressure of his hands on her shoulders. It was a nightmare, it had to be. That game he wanted to play, either he would win, or he would die. “What if you’re hurt?” Hurt. _Dead_.

“If I end up…” He paused for a moment, as if reading her mind “Hurt… You need to be safe. I won’t be there to protect you if something goes wrong. Promise me, Lyanna” he urged her once again.

His eyes told her that he would never take a ‘no’ for an answer, the pressure of his skin felt too heavy to bear. In the end, she nodded, her heart being squeezed by some invisible force that insisted on tearing her apart. 

And there she was, trying to picture herself in the worst case scenario. And she could not, because she would die. But the darker thoughts, she needed to push away or she could just break against fear of losing what she loved the most right there and then. 

Lyanna took his face between her hands, and, standing on her tip-toes, she pressed her lips against his, stubborn tears were suddenly soaking the skin of her cheeks. 

He pulled her closer, his arms were surrounding her protectively, and Gods how she had missed him. He pulled apart, his thumb wiping her tears away as she closed her eyes. “I missed you so much”  _And so did I._

Her answer, was another meet of the lips, a kiss so deep and so hungry that would surely end up setting them ablaze. 

And the moment he lifted her up and walked her to his desk, until she was sitting upon it, her hands urged him to remove his doublet, because she could simply tear it apart if he didn’t take it off soon. In the middle of such a chaotic mixture of feelings, she wouldn't mind.

He did as he was bid, only to begin loosening the laces of her dress later, kissing the soft skin of her neck in the process, biting lightly, lifting her skirts with his other hand, and Gods she could already see that they would not leave that room in hours. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter until the whole thing blows up. Thanks for the support :)


	42. Before The Storm

Daenerys was a small baby, with no more than a few thin light blonde strands of hair crowning her head graciously. Her eyes, purple and big, just like Viserys when he was just a baby, told her she would have the very same light shade, unlike Rhaegar, who had a darker tone. She was a quiet babe, maybe that was the resemblance she had with her eldest son.   

However, Daenerys’ birth had been the most difficult she had ever experienced. Even worst than Rhaegar's. The pain, the pressure, her fading strength, that drained away with every push and left her feeling weaker and weaker, as if on the edge of death. Maester Pycelle had told her, it would be a difficult birth. He had told her, and all she could do was to produce a warm, reassuring smile for her eldest son, who looked at her with fear in his indigo eyes before leaving the chamber, before the birth. 

But there she was, alive, with her small, sleeping girl in her arms, her little hands fisting softly near her tiny face. She was a beauty, and Rhaella could already hear the love songs musicians would make for her beautiful girl across the realm, and the many propositions. 

“She doesn’t do anything” Viserys’ little finger poked at one of his sister’s arms, but not even the childish touch could awake her from her heavy sleep. 

“She’s just a babe, Viserys. You were just like this when you were born” she smiled at her son, speaking in hushed tones not to wake Daenerys up. Even though, if Viserys’ touch did not, she doubted the sound of her voice would. 

“She’s beautiful” her eldest son’s wife admired, as her eyes landed on the sleeping babe. A beauty she was, indeed. “Do you wish to hold her?” Rhaella offered, watching the girl’s eager reaction. A wide smile adorning her soft features, and her arms were already demanding little Daenerys for them, and Rhaella only chuckled softly. She would do a good job as a mother when the time came. 

Lyanna held her, her arms acting as a warm nest for the babe. The girl gave Daenerys a loving look, only to direct her eyes to her eldest son after, pleading eyes asking something of him. “She’s so tiny” Lyanna’s voice was small and filled with tenderness, and Rhaegar smiled at her with one of those charming smiles she knew her son was capable of producing. Wether that was a response to her previous look, she could not say. Sometimes, it looked like those two could simply communicate with their silent looks and their mischievous smiles. She had noticed many times.

That, was one of the moments she knew she had to save in her memory, one of those rare moments in which everything seemed to be perfect, peaceful, complete, for all of them. For the first time in several months, the memories of those who were gone, of those who she lost, were not haunting her and hurting her soul. She felt peace.

“I was bigger” Viserys crossed his arms across his chest, his lips pursed in what she would easily read as fraternal jealousy. The sight of him sure caused her sympathy, but she held back the chuckle that had wanted to escape her. “You were, my sweet” she simply stated, and the boy’s expression enlightened like the rising sun when he was given his whim. 

“Will Lya have a babe too? First Lady Ashara, now you… And then Lya?” her little boy had certainly touched a sensible spot there, she knew. But before Lyanna or her eldest son could say a thing, she went ahead to calm the boy’s curiosity. “Yes, my dear. She could have one too” 

“Oh” Viserys’ blonde eyebrows raised. “Well I want Lya’s babe to be named Balerion” and the innocent comment produced a collective laughter. A child's occurrence, that was. 

“Balerion?” Rhaegar asked in amusement. 

“Aye. It’s a good name” the boy let out with pride, lifting his chin up, defending the honor of his suggestion with bravery and conviction that made Rhaegar's amusement grow. 

“Aye. It is” Rhaegar smiled at him. 

According to Viserys, everyone should be called Balerion. That was the princeling's favorite dragon, after all. 

The sound of heavy, metallic steps outside made her eldest son’s face harden. And she suspected, she held the same expression. Peace was broken. 

“Lyanna, darling. Put the babe in the crib, please” her wide, greyish eyes blinked a few times. The poor girl probably did not understand. And how could he, she hadn’t seen Aerys the last time she delivered a babe into the world. 

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, ask, anything. But Rhaegar cut her in. “Give her to me” he took the sleeping babe from her arms, just in time, before the doors of her chambers opened without another warning than the heavy steps they heard before. 

Aerys was standing there, like the devil himself -it had been a while since she could think of him as anything different-, his Kingsguards accompanying him in every step he took. It was a good thing that Rhaegar had taken Daenerys from Lyanna’s arms, otherwise, the _King_ would’ve bursted in collera, seeing his new daughter in the arms of an ‘outsider’,  a woman that was not a Targaryen in blood. 

She remembered Viserys’ first days, when only he, Rhaella herself and Rhaegar were allowed to touch the babe. Oh, and Maester Pycelle, the one ‘stranger’ her husband trusted. They had all heard him murmuring things, things about how a stranger’s touch on a dragon could spoil him, about how they were all murders. The first days had always been difficult. Luckily for her, and her children, Aerys’ paranoia was often eased after he saw no danger lurked inside the walls of his Red Keep. 

“Stay there, boy” he had clearly spoken to Rhaegar, who still held Daenerys in his arms. 

Aerys approached him, a bony hand pushing a piece of the soft cloth that wrapped the babe away, if only to see her small, sleeping face. Rhaella could not deny that a pinch of fear had stroked her heart, to see those _claws_ so near her daughter, even when she knew that his madness, in part, was due to the overprotection he would set upon those who shared his blood. Still, the sight frightened her. 

“Very well. At least Viserys will have a proper bride, then” the King cackled after. Rhaegar threw a cutting stare to his father, so sharp that Rhaella could only think that the only thing in her son’s head was the death of his own father. It was the first time in her life she had presented such a stare coming from him, and it froze her blood for a second. 

Next to him, Lyanna’s gaze burned with the same intensity upon the King, but with her reddened cheeks, she lowered her eyes to her feet, surely in order to remain quiet for her own good. Ignoring Aerys’ insults was a hard task, she knew, specially for such a young girl like her. 

“It gives me great happiness to know that you are pleased, husband” Rhaella heard her own voice in the quiet room. Her husband turned to her, lilac eyes watching her. 

“Rhaella. We must make sure nobody gets near her. No strangers. Only the ones I say” coming from his lips, it sounded like a promise. One of his twisted promises, that she knew he would take too far. But she only nodded. She was smarter than to contradict him, and the fact that he had not said a _thing_ about the presence of Lyanna in the room, and the wet nurse, was a good sign. 

But she could already see it all. Those first weeks would be hard. And if things went as they went when Viserys was born, then there would be days in which not even she would be able to get near her own babe, days in which soldiers or his Kingsguards would be the only ones near her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I hate him” she let out, her tone low, lower than she would’ve wanted to, but just enough to warrantee her safety. 

“Shhh… I know” Rhaegar held her close, his hands resting on each side of her tiny waist. “You shouldn’t be so open about it” a warning staining the tone of his rich voice. She knew, she was aware of it. But she could not stop it. He should be grateful that she had always remained silent whenever the King decided to throw insults right and left, never raising her her voice like she used to do in Winterfell whenever she didn’t like what was being said. But maybe, she should be the one grateful for it, since it would’ve been _her_ head upon the Keep’s walls if she dared to say a word against the King’s insults. No doubt, her husband’s head would be next to hers, for trying to defend his foolish wife. 

“I want things to be… To be different” she almost whispered, even if the hallway was empty and she had no other witnesses but her husband and the dancing flames of the torches illuminating the path. 

She wanted things to be different, she wanted it all to be over soon. But at the same time, she didn’t. Lyanna’s heart pounded fast in her chest whenever she thought about it, about what would happen soon. It brought her great joy to think of Aerys gone, of the Mad King out of their lives, or at least, stripped off of his power and title. But to think that everything could go wrong, to think that she could witness her husband’s execution, or that he could just die away from her. It never failed to stab her heart in the most painful way. What if they left? What if they simply ran away? To the free cities… 

Rhaegar pushed her against a wall, and his arms closed around her, their distance shortening considerably. He had that strange power upon her, to just make her fall out of her thoughts with such an approach, to make her feel drunk even when not a drop of wine had touched her lips. 

“Everything will be fine” he whispered against her lips before kissing her slowly, his grip on her tightening enough as to set her afire in the blink of an eye. 

She breathed heavily, and her hands went to the taut flesh of his arms, her nails digging into his skin through the soft velvet that covered them, going up and down until they reached his broad shoulders, squeezing them with something resembling longing. 

Not soon after, he lifted her body, hands in the back of her toned thighs, her back was pushed against the wall roughly, and the only thing she could do was to surround his waist with her legs tightly, surrendering against the hot kisses he trailed down her neck. With her eyes closed and her mind burning, she could not think of anything else. 

“We’re in the middle of a hallway” she gasped when she felt one of his hands going under her skirts and between her legs, resisting the urge to moan loudly, seeing the satisfaction across his face when he found her ready for him “Someone could see us” And, indeed, someone could, even if it was late and dark, because that  _fucking_ Keep never really slept. 

“Fuck them” was his response before two of his fingers slipped inside her heat, finally plucking the repressed, wanton moan that wanted to escape from deep within her earlier. He smirked as his darkened eyes inspected her pleasured expression, he was enjoying it, she could see, and when she began to rock her hips against his hand, his satisfied smirk only widened. It was so fucking annoying but so fucking attractive at the same time. His fingers began to go in and out, over and over again, she wasn't sure if they were following her breathing's pace, or if her breathing was the one obeying their pace. And she could already feel him hard against her thigh, a hot sensation rooting in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him, right there and then, inside of her, and fuck everything else.    

“Fuck them” was all she could say, before closing her eyes and letting him do whatever he wanted to do with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was short, I know. But it was a transition chapter. The next one is going to be long, and what you all have been waiting for will finally happen. Yes, Aerys is going down... 
> 
> Have a nice week :) And thanks for the support, guys... You are amazing.


	43. The Beginning

Another drowned sound, and she felt the warm liquid going up her throat once again, it’s sour taste only served for her to almost choke on it and to make her throw it all up even faster, as if she could just expulse her inner organs as well with such an intensity. It was disgusting, the smell had her feeling like she could go for the chamber pot once again. Behind her, Ashara held her hair with a worried expression and warm hands, kneeling next to her on the cold ground.

“Should I call the maester?” Ashara handed her a piece of cloth with which she wiped her mouth softly, making sure there was nothing left of the disgusting liquid and it’s nauseating smell, because it had her head spinning and spinning.  

Lyanna denied with her head, trying to compose herself was not an easy task, she discovered, even less when feeling a little bit too light headed and with her limbs going almost numb for a second. Still, stubborn as she was, she denied it. “No. It was nothing. It was probably something I ate” It had to be. The last time she threw up like that, it was back in Winterfell, when Brandon dared her to drink a suspicious looking cup of milk, in exchange for his wooden sword. What a stupid little girl she was. She could have easily just steal Ned’s. 

“If it happens again, you should see him. And if you don’t call him, I shall” Ashara’s tone was threatening. She was worrying over nothing, she thought as she washed her mouth with fresh water, she could not stand the sour taste any longer. 

In order to change the subject, because, Gods be good, that woman could be incredibly stubborn whenever she wanted to, Lyanna, seeing only one of Ashara’s babes sleeping on her crib, little Elaena, decided to ask about her other niece and try her luck. “Where is Sarella?”

“In company of the wet nurse. I wanted to take Elaena with me tonight, for the maester said she’s slightly fevered, and I need to take care of her… I don’t want Sarella to be close for now, in case it is contagious” 

“Did the maester tell you what could’ve caused such a thing?” Lyanna felt her eyebrows furrowing.  

Ashara shrugged, lips pressed tightly together in a sign of concern. “He says it could be just a cold”  

She wanted to discuss more about her niece’s health, maybe it would be good to ask for a second opinion, another one that was not Pycelle’s. Ah, that old crow, there was something about him that bothered her to the extreme. But, however, the sound of one of the doors of Lyanna’s chamber cut her flow of thoughts, and the opening doors made them both, Lyanna and Ashara, turn their heads towards it. 

Rhaegar was there, oddly, wrapped up in a dark cloak that covered his entire body and made him look like a dark shadow from the neck down. _Odd_. Behind him, Ser Arthur was standing in his regular golden armor, eyes looking back at the corridor for a moment, and his hand tightened around his sword’s hilt. 

That was the first sign she caught.  

The looks on the men’s faces were, if not explicative, at least very telling. Something was happening. And what alarmed her the most, was not only the almost grim, even nervous expressions they carried, but the fact that Viserys, with sleepy, confused eyes, was standing near them, holding Ser Arthur by his cloak with one of his tiny hands, asking why were they awake and what were they doing in ‘Lya’s chambers’. His questions were softly answered by Ser Arthur, who kneeled for a moment to the boy’s level, and explained to him that it would not take long.  

“Ashara, come with me” Arthur’s voice sounded commanding after he got up once again, no courtesies, no smiles, nothing. Ashara threw one look at her sleeping daughter, and Arthur nodded slightly at her, giving her the sign to take the child with her. And so she did. 

Ashara took the sleeping babe in her arms, careful not to wake her up, throwing one last, intrigued look at Lyanna before disappearing through the doors with Arthur behind her, and a yawning Viserys. 

Still in her position, Lyanna looked at her husband in search for an explanation, but she knew… She could see it in his face. That was the night. It was happening. 

He got closer to her, something in his manner of walking was a little heavier, perhaps, different. The moment in which she placed a hand upon his chest, she understood why. 

Hard, cold metal was hidden underneath his black cloak, she could feel it, cold and stern under her touch, and it stole her breath away to think of the meaning of it. He was ready for the night, ready for _war_ , if it came to that. “Tonight” she breathed, feeling a heavy sensation accommodating down in her stomach, and he nodded silently. She felt like she could just throw up once again, as her whole peace burned down to ashes. 

“You must go, immediately.” The urgency in his voice made her lungs empty, and it felt as if something just poked her chest “Arthur will take you to the ship. Behind one of the tapestries in this chamber, there’s a passage… You must follow him, Lyanna, and don’t you even think about coming back until I send for you” his words gave her no space for argumentation. 

The passage. Yes, she knew the passage. The one Queen Rhaella used once, when she was in bed from her miscarriage. She was told by the Queen later not to use it, because it would upset the King if he ever found out. And he had good reasons, apparently.  

“Now?” was all she managed to say in the middle of the chaos exploding in her mind, feeling as if her jaw could just drop to the floor at any time. 

Rhaegar nodded, his sharp features stern in place, leaving no room for arguments.  “And your mother?” she had seen Viserys, but not Rhaella. Where was she? So many thoughts were crossing her mind, she thought she could just faint if he didn’t give her an answer. A convincing one.

Instead, at the mention of the Queen, Rhaegar’s expression hardened. Not a good sign, Lyanna decided, when the silence stretched for a few more seconds that had her holding her breath. “The King is with her, and Daenerys” 

She felt her own heart sinking deeper and deeper in her chest. If the King was visiting Rhaella and the babe, there was no possible way to make them leave with them. What was going to happen to them? Rhaegar wouldn’t let his mother die, would he? Of course not. He couldn’t. “You must-“

“I know” was all he said, his grip tightening on her arms as he cut her sentence with his own voice. Only then she realized he had his hands on her arms. “Now you must go, Lyanna. This place is no longer safe for you. I’ll let Arthur know you’re ready. Take a cloak with you, it is cold outside, specially in the sea”

She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, over, and over, and over, non stop, and before she knew it, she had already grabbed a white cloak from the wardrobe. Everything was about to change. Everything. And if something went wrong… She didn’t even want to think about it. 

She heard her husband’s footsteps leaving her side then, and her pulse elevated. “Wait!” she bit her lip as she grabbed his arm. He turned, his gaze expecting upon her as she sank her nails in the cold metal that covered his arm. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t die” it was a stupid promise she was asking of him. Stupid, childish, and out of his control. But Lyanna needed to hear it, she needed some kind of reassurance, a promise that could hold her in the waiting, something to cling to in the dark hours. 

Maybe the words should’ve been ‘Promise me you will try not to get killed’. But it sounded so tragically uncertain, and anxiety would eat her alive from within.  

“I…” he wetted his lips, indigo eyes burning deep into her very soul. She could see the hesitance in them, and it scared her to death. She wondered if he could see her distress too. 

He grabbed the white cloak she held, and slowly placed it upon her shoulders, his skilled fingers tying the delicate threads in order to make the cloak stay in place. Still, his eyes never left hers, and it burned, his stare. “I won’t die” the conviction in his words made every hair in her body rise, and for just a moment, she let herself think that everything would be alright. 

Words, reassurance, and his best try, she knew, he would give her that. And if everything went down, she would gladly go down too. She placed her lips upon his, softly, slowly. It felt like a promise, it felt like a good bye too, and it had her heart dancing with a sad lullaby within her chest. 

No words were said after that, and her grip on his arm finally loosened, giving him permission to continue with it all. 

He opened the doors again, and the silhouettes of Arthur, Viserys, and Ashara with her sleeping daughter in arms made their way into the chamber. Confused eyes, from little Viserys, to Ashara. She wondered if they could see the despair in hers. Maybe not. She certainly hoped not.  

“It is time, Arthur” his deep voice announced, and the knight nodded in agreement, his solemn eyes going to his sister as a warning. Arthur had been his complice all along. Always loyal to his friend.  “Follow me” the knight asked. 

“Where are we going?” Ashara asked, still holding her small daughter in her arms, confusion written all over her softly traced factions. 

“Out of here. Where is your other daughter?” Arthur asked, alarmed when his eyes failed to find the other babe anywhere in the chamber. Sarella. 

“She’s… She’s in the nursery, I think. Why? What is going on?” 

“You ask too much, sister” was Arthur’s response, followed by a deep sigh that could only be understood as the knight’s concern.

“I’ll send for her.” Rhaegar’s voice cut in, in sight of his friend’s distress. “I’ll send Ser Gerold. Now go. Taking your daughter out of here will be much easier than taking all of you out. There is no time to waste, Ser Gerold will meet you ahead. Go!” 

“No. I will do it. I’ll retrieve my niece” Arthur’s gaze met Rhaegar’s, and without much left, the Prince nodded in agreement silently. It was only natural, after all. And somehow, the idea of her brother searching for her daughter, would calm Ashara’s anxiety, she knew. 

Lyanna, still dazed, still unbelieving, gazed at her husband one last time, before following Ser Arthur through the dark passage open in front of them after the knight lifted the tapestry hanging on the wall. 

His indigo eyes burning her was all she was really looking at, and they held a silent prayer in them. Maybe ti was the same she was reciting in her head, the one that kept begging the Gods to protect him in what he was about to do. She had never been a good, religious girl, and how she regretted it then. 

With hesitant feet, she took the first steps, still feeling his gaze watching her back. And soon after, the image of his beautiful eyes was replaced by the sight of reddish bricks and stones at each side of her, illuminated only by the flame on Arthur’s torch, the one that was guiding them deeper and deeper into those passages, that seemed to have so many ramifications in which one could easily get lost. 

In the middle of the dry sound of their steps, the echo, and their hushed breathings, she clenched her fists. _She felt fear._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With fearful eyes, the guards watching over the gates of the Keep hesitantly opened them after he gave the command. It was not like they could deny his order, or like waking the King up for approval was a good idea. Either way, in theory, they could end up dead, and they knew it. After the gates were unlocked, it only took half a second of Jon Connington’s time to do the signal, and to have those guards surrounded by those who were loyal to them. Several men quickly surrounded them, and, in the most silent manner they could, tied them up and threw them to the ground, just like they did with other before them. 

It was a pity, that he had to betray some of his own soldiers, the ones loyal to his father. And in that moment, the eyes of those lying on the ground were looking at him, and only him. So many questions raised in them, so many accusations too. He was a traitor in those men’s eyes.  

But he averted his sight from the defeated men on the ground, and when the gates were finally open from side to side, Tywin Lannister’s calculating green eyes greeted him in the dark. The man was sitting proudly on top of his horse, his armor in place, and a sword hanging from his hip. Behind him, his army rose like dark shadows waiting for a signal to start a war. 

In the end, they knew they should avoid a war if they could, even if the number of men and their predisposition for fighting was feral, they all knew. There would be no unnecessary bloodshed, if it could be helped. However, he knew that not every soldier in Tywin’s ranks -and even in his own- would listen to such words. Some would take advantage and satisfy their hunger. 

“We’ve not much time left before this becomes a bath of blood, Lord Tywin” his own voice resonated in the silence of the night. He was aware, that at any moment, they would be discovered. It was a part of the plan. To be discovered was inevitable, specially with so many men gathered at the gates of the city, a fleet surrounding Blackwater bay, and the never sleeping Red Keep. 

Hoping for his father to use his better judgement, however, was a lost cause. That was the reason behind the large number of soldiers the plan involved. His father would raise his army as well, every soldier in the Red Keep would follow his orders. 

“We must act now, Your Highness” Tywin Lannister’s fingers snapped quickly, making a dry sound, accompanied by a single name that, to him, in that moment, meant nothing. “Clegane” 

A man, taller than any he had ever seen, came out from the pile of soldiers behind Tywin Lannister, and the soldiers around him opened a path for the giant to pass. 

It was not the height or the enormity of the man that somehow made him feel uneasy, but the bestiality hidden in his dark eyes, and they way in which he carried himself under his heavy looking armor. 

Only then, he remembered to have heard the name before. Gregor Clegane, The Mountain. Many called him that. A man known for his cruelty in battle, and his enormous size. The man in front of him certainly lived up to his reputation. 

However, Tywin Lannister did not look so concerned with his man’s possible behavior. “Gather the men and get inside the Keep. Divide in groups, and make sure to clear the paths for us”

Gregor Clegane looked satisfied, with a mid smirk and a grunt. It was as if the single idea of combat made him excited.

It was a good thing, that he had managed to send Lyanna and Viserys away. His mother and sister, he was sure, no one would dare to put a finger upon. And if someone did, he would remove the responsible heads personally. 

And while some of Tywin’s men organized themselves and divided in several groups, a Targaryen guard came to them in a rush, more exactly, to Jon Connington. 

The next words that came out of the man’s mouth in the form of ragged sentences, elevated his pulse. It was time. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The moment in which Ser Jonothor Darry knocked intensely on her chambers’ doors, she knew something was going on. Never before, had anyone dared to interrupt the King’s ‘time’ with his wife. Why would that be the first time? Aerys was certainly not getting any kinder with the time, and not any patient either.  

Aerys, who was, until that moment, quiet and distant, absorb in his own world, looking at the crib in which Daenerys was sleeping, turned into a fury after the intromission, his claw-like hands letting go of the babe’s crib. 

With long strides and an ireful determination, her brother-husband opened the doors, out of patience, he shouted so loudly she feared Daenerys would wake up.  “What is the meaning of this?!” Aerys demanded to know, screaming in Ser Jonothor Darry’s face. 

The man, still stoic, even before the King’s ireful reaction, remained in his place, straight as a spear. But his face, it did not held the same, usual serious expression it always had. At least, not completely. 

“Your Grace” under the thin veil of tranquility upon his tone, she could see there was something going odd in his speech, in his behavior too. So many years watching those men that followed her like a shadow had served her to know each and every one of them and their gestures and motions like the palm of her hand.

But nothing had prepared her for what was about to come. “It’s the prince.” Her heart stopped then, at the mention of her son. Her eldest son. 

She knew what was coming, Rhaella could feel it in her veins. 

Everything seemed to slow down from that moment on. Aerys’ face was distorted into an inquisitive mask, filled with dissatisfaction and impatience. As for her, she was pretty sure she had turned white as the very sheets that covered her bed. And the so expected words, finally floated in the air, chilling the blood in her veins and making her feel light headed. “The Prince has opened the gates for the Lannister army. And it seems like we’re being surrounded. Ships carrying the Tyrell banners are invading Blackwater bay as well” she could just faint, because for a brief moment, her sight blackened slightly. But in the end, she remained there, sitting in the bed, with her lips parted and her heart in some kind of stopping trance.

Aerys’ white skin turned bloody red, just like hers turned ghostly white. She could see the hatred in her husband’s eyes, the thirst for blood, the suspicion finally turning into a fact. The one thing that kept her from crumbling down, or having a nervous break down, was the undoubtable advantage her son had in the matter. They were surrounded, by both Lannisters and Tyrells, and doubtlessly, even a portion of the Targaryen army, the ones that were loyal to the son, and not to the father.  

“I knew it! I knew that boy was scheming against me! I knew it!” strange as it was, Aerys started laughing after acknowledging his own son’s betrayal. A devilish laughter it was, product of his madness, Rhaella thought.

Her brother-husband turned to her then, his face still red, and his eyes narrowing at her. “Let us go to the Throne room. That boy will have to face me, if he wants my throne!” Her fists were clenched tightly, and a spark of fear shone within her for what was coming. “And _you_ will watch your treasonous son burn!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy. However, I will try to update quicker, because in a few days I'm going on a trip and I don't think I will have the time to write for a few weeks. But who knows. 
> 
> Thank you all for the support :) and sorry if there is any mistake in the redaction, I didn't have the time to double check. Have a nice week!


	44. Blood Stained Decisions

The green sails upon her head with the Tyrell emblem in them undulated in the wind, and the dark sky was like a vault of stars that silent night. The sea breeze brushing her skin made her shudder, which she found ridiculous given her birthplace and home for the past years. Maybe it wasn’t the breeze itself, but the feeling it brought with it.

The sight from her spot was something she never thought she would see. Blackwater bay was tainted black, but still, the reflection of the uncountable ships danced quietly on the darkened waters, the silence was sepulchral, except for a few dry steps upon the wood she could hear at distance. The Red Keep looked peaceful, unsuspecting of what was about to happen. But how could she know? _It_ could have been happening in that precise moment and maybe she wouldn’t even notice. 

“Do you not need a blanket, Princess? I could get you one if you’d like” the voice of a young servant girl distracted her from her trance, she blinked a few times before denying with her head. “Thank you” 

The dark silhouette of Ashara had suddenly caught her eye. 

The dornish beauty was wearing a heavy cloak to protect her from the fresh air of the night, a bundle wrapped in blankets rested against her bosom. What perturbed her, were the shining traces tears had left along her cheeks, the thin paths on her face dimly illuminated by the moonlight. The ship hadn’t sailed yet. Arthur. Arthur hadn’t returned yet, not even after a fair amount of time. Arthur hadn’t brought Ashara’s daughter yet. 

Unsure of what to say, she put a hand on the dornish woman’s shoulder. “Ash” she tried to use the softest tone her voice could produce, even when she was dying out of fear on the inside, even if she felt like drowning. 

Ashara remained in her place, sitting with her daughter sleeping against her bosom, her sight lost somewhere in the direction of the Red Keep. “He should be here already. _She_ should be here, Lyanna” 

 _Yes_. Her mind screamed, but her mouth remained shut. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it, Lyanna. Something’s wrong. Arthur should’ve returned long ago” her voice cracked at the end, and Lyanna could feel her own fears gathering at the pit of her stomach. There was so much to lose, _if_ they did.

“Don’t panic” Lyanna held her breath, telling the woman not to do what she was feeling like doing. How could she sound convincing when she was being drowned in her own despair? “Your brother will be back, and he will brought your daughter with him. It will all be well” 

Ashara said nothing. Silently, her tears kept falling, one after another, and she had already run out of words to say. Ashara would not stop until she had her daughter back, that much, was clear. And how easily she could understand… If it wasn’t for Ashara and her tears, for Viserys and his childish innocence, she herself felt like she could just sit there and cry out of desesperation. But of course she wouldn’t. She had to be strong, and she had to trust Rhaegar, and she had to try and support Ashara and little Viserys. 

“Girl” Lyanna called, slightly ashamed to be ignorant of the young servant’s name. She hadn't seen her before around the Keep, so she supposed it was just someone Rhaegar assigned for her in such a situation. “Princess” the young girl rushed to her side with quick feet, leaving behind any task she had. 

“Where is the prince?” Lyanna asked, her eyes involuntarily searching for a glimpse of silver y blond somewhere on the deck. 

“He’s asleep, Princess” the girl informed, and Lyanna thanked her before sending her back to her duties. 

At least Viserys was sleeping peacefully. 

That left her with Ashara. Ashara and her silent cry, and the fact that her niece was still inside the Red Keep. What was taking Arthur so long? Why wasn’t he there yet? It was supposed to be a short way, the way to the nursery. Something was wrong, Ashara was probably right. But what? And if so, was Sarella in danger? Her heart squeezed in her chest at the thought of the defenseless babe in that Keep. Maybe Arthur was in trouble. And if so… Who would rescue Sarella? Who else knew?

She would wait, for a few more moments. And if Arthur didn’t return… 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The number of soldiers in every corner of the hallways was ridiculous, it was as if they were expecting something to happen. Never before did they have such a display of military forces around the Red Keep, and that, was the proof he needed to believe that the plan was in action. Which was odd, considering that he could, barely, but still could, hear faint noises of clashing steel somewhere at the distance. Still, the soldiers remained there. Why? He didn’t know, but it complicated matters regarding his niece, his niece that had disappeared from the nursery she was supposed to be in, and he was starting to lose the patience when the nervous soldiers didn’t leave their spots even after hearing the mess outside. 

He had two choices, and he was running out of time. The first one, to fight them all. There were at least forty soldiers there, positioned all along the hallway’s length. The reduced space helped him, yes. But if he survived forty men at the same time, then for fuck’s sake, he should just retire from the Kingsguards and be considered the reincarnation of The Warrior himself. The second choice, was to play the fool and pretend nothing was happening. 

In the end, he opted for the second choice, and if something went wrong, he would have no alternative but to fight until his last breath. With his best lying face and a stiff hand, ready to grab Dawn if there was need to, he took a few steps forward. 

The soldiers did not move at his presence, but he had certainly caught their eyes. That was a good sign, he decided. Not to have those men thrown at him.

“Ser Dayne!” One of them called, and his shoulders felt tensioned immediately. He did not respond. 

“What are you doing here?! The King! The King commanded that all of his Kingsguards present themselves immediately at the Throne room!” 

“Aye, aye. I was on my way” he lied, his hand making a dismissive motion.

The soldier looked at him with a hint of acknowledgement in his eyes when the sound of screams reached their ears from the outside. It would soon be there, the fight, the blood, the swords clashing against each other. He had to find Sarella, and soon. Should he ask? At that instance, the whole Keep was probably aware of the Princess’ absence, and also his sister’s. They knew it was no coincidence. But consequences be damned. “Soldier. Do you know where my nieces are?” he lied the best he could, asking for both of them, instead of just one. 

The man gave him a confused look. “They… They disappeared, Ser Dayne. However, one of your sister’s daughters is under the King’s vigilance, I believe.” 

 _Fuck_. 

That would do. But he could not ask any more questions, the soldier was already throwing suspicious looks at him, and it would be better not to pour oil upon the flames. If her beloved niece was under the King’s vigilance, there could only be two choices, and neither of them would be exactly accesible at the moment. The first one, the Throne room. Impenetrable at the moment, for sure. The second one, Maegor’s Holdfast, the place he had already left with a lot of difficulties. In any case, he would have to act soon, and think of the worst case scenario. He could simply assume that nothing would happen to her, that she was safe in Maegor’s Holdfast. But if things went wrong, he knew that the ‘traitor’s blood’ would be the prize the King would want for the rebellion. 

But before he could even take a step, a booming sound came from the end of the hallway. 

The next thing he heard, made him draw his sword immediately, and his muscles tensed. “Men! Attack!” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He could feel the sweat soaking his skin and the blood on his nostrils as his sword pierced another man’s abdomen, the sharp sound of the metal being withdrawn ringing in his ears, along with several screams and metal clashing and bodies falling to the ground around him. 

His father was not making it easy, to get to the Throne room. He felt another man coming at him from behind, and in the blink of an eye, he had turned around and lowered his height in order to wield his sword against the man’s torso, almost cutting the man in two, before he fell to his feet with a pained scream. Rhaegar decided he would be merciful, and sank the tip of his sword on the man’s heart. 

“We’re close now!” Ser Gerold’s voice resounded upon everyone else’s in his ears, his eyes vaguely paying attention at the knight fighting at his side, because if they got distracted, he could just end up dead. However, he was still capable of listening to what he had to say. 

They were closer, yes, but they still had yet much flesh to cut through if they wanted to finally get there. It wouldn’t be so easy.

The sudden blow to his face made his thoughts fade away, but at least the pain was long forgotten from the shock. Still, it left him deafened for a fleeting moment, a fleeting moment that could’ve costed him his life, were it half a second longer. 

The shield that had hit his face had an owner. 

Ser Lewyn Martell was the one holding the shield, ready to attack once again, ready to sink his sword in his chest, with iron determination.

In the blink of an eye, and still confused from the blow, Rhaegar moved his body to a side, avoiding the man’s attack, and getting up as he could. He could feel the blood gathering in his mouth and dripping from his nose, and he spat it quickly, counting himself lucky in the back of his mind that there were no teeth there along with his blood. But that mattered little to him. 

Without another word, he wielded his sword at Ser Lewyn Martell, and the knight defended himself with the heavy looking shield he was carrying, blocking the attack succesfully. Rhaegar tried once again, when the man lowered the shield to blow his sword at him, failing, but at the same time, making him fail. 

“Traitor!” Ser Lewyn’s voice had finally reached his ears, with the word he knew many would use to describe him. 

He didn’t need to explain his reasons to this man in front of him, and he didn’t have to explain his reasons to him too. He was an heir trying to rule over a Kingdom made of lands and people, not ashes, he was a son, a husband, a brother, trying to stop the madness into his family. And the knight in front of him, he was an honorable knight fulfilling his oath. There was nothing else to know or understand. 

Ser Lewyn went straight for his head, the tip of his sword brushing his cheek and leaving a superficial cut in it before he lowered himself and gave him the final strike. Rhaegar’s sword pierced the man’s chest, brown eyes wide open staring right back at him when he looked up at the face of the man he had just killed. A man he had known for years.

It was strange. A strange notion, to kill someone he knew for so long. But it was a notion he got into his head at the early stages of the plan, back to when he was still hesitant to scheme, or to plan against his own father. One of the many issues he had to deal with, the fact that he would inevitable have to kill someone he knew. Eventually. 

Ser Lewyn fell to his knees, and from the corner of his eye, Rhaegar caught a glimpse of Ser Gerold near him. As if time went slow, too slow, he wondered what would he say. What was he thinking. Would he be capable of killing one of his sworn brothers if it came to that? 

In the end, he withdrawn his blood-soaked valyrian sword from the knight’s body, the heavy body of the dornish man falling to lifelessly to the ground and near his feet. 

It was no long after, that another of his father’s soldiers came for him, and he received him with the blade of his valyrian sword. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ser Jaime Lannister’s eyes widened when he heard about it. Ser Lewyn Martell had been slaughtered in battle, no less than by the Prince himself. Arthur Dayne had disappeared, and many said they saw him fighting alongside the Prince. The King had already declared him a traitor, him, and Ser Gerold Hightower. There were only four of them left, but maybe even less. 

No. Less than four in favor of the King. Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Barristan Selmy would keep their oaths, he knew, but if the Prince won, they would accept him. If they didn’t die. As for him, he counted himself as a dubious part of the actual Kingsguard. His oath he wanted to keep, but on the inside, he hoped Rhaegar could end his father’s reign that night. 

As for Ser Jonothor… He was a mystery to him. The man barely even spoke, and if so, he only said a few dry words and nothing more. 

His mind snapped out of his thoughts when the King’s shouts became too loud to ignore, at his side, Queen Rhaella had her hands holding the edges of the crib of her daughter tightly, as if she was afraid the Stranger himself would present right there and then to claim her daughter. It was a fair reaction, given their current position and the King’s mental breakdown. 

“The three of you, leave! Leave! Kill the traitors! Kill them all!” The King’s finger pointed towards the locked doors of the throne room, the command was meant for Ser Oswell, Ser Jonothor and Ser Barristan, and they all went to fulfill their King’s desire. He demanded the head of the traitors, and he was made a fury after he heard. His forces were losing. The ‘enemy’ was about to invade the safest part of the Red Keep. The King had lost his temper. “Jaime Lannister!” his emerald eyes went to the King, expectant to hear whatever he had to say next. He was waiting for it. 

“When your father gets in here, you will be the one who will give me his head!” Jaime’s breathing stopped.

The King was asking him to behead his own father, and to give him his head as some kind of prize. The notion was shocking, and it sent chills to his spine for a second. But the rational part of his mind told him that such a scenario was unlikely. The irrational part of his mind was begging for it to be unlikely. 

But if things continued that way, it wouldn’t be long before his father, or maybe even the Prince, presented himself at the doors of the throne room with an army behind their backs. What could Aerys do then? What would he do if he was ordered to fight against his father, in such a situation? Fear of death did not move him, but the idea of fighting against his father, knowing that it would be for nothing, to give his life for nothing in the eyes of his father… It was not how he imagined it would be like, to be a knight. To die as a knight.

He nodded once to King Aerys, while in his head, everything was blurred and messy. And the King kept shouting, throwing orders left and right to tired men. His wife also looked tired. Fearful. And he recalled all the times he had to stand guard by her doors, listening to her screams while the King abused her, feeling as if his own blood was boiling inside his veins for being there, but not being able to do a thing. What kind of knight was he? What did he turn into? That was far from honorable, far from it. It was shameful. 

Now, the woman looked too tired, too helpless, too consumed by her concern. The news from the other side were probably encouraging to her. Her son was winning. But she was still there, locked up with that _monster_. Luckily for her, the King had apparently forgotten about her existence, and had simply dedicated himself to throw orders against the traitors. His ire was surely focused on his son, maybe that was what was concerning her so deeply. But still, he doubted his ire could reach Rhaegar. He hoped so. 

But as if to reassure him, a soldier appeared, coming inside the throne room with a rushed pace and a reddened face. His expression was very telling, his ragged breathing interrupting the words he tried to formulate. “My King!” the man took a brief pause before speaking again, trying to take some air “The rebels! They’re approaching! The Prince is leading them and they will be here at any minute, Your Grace!” The whole room stood quiet. 

Jaime looked at the Queen, her face was twisted in what seemed to be relief, but at the same time, as if some deep concern was stabbing her heart. 

The King. He could pretty much just decide to use his sister-wife in order to make his son fail in his rebellion. 

Aerys’ scowl deepened then, but what let him startled was not the twisted expression on his face or  the sound of the long nails breaking against the Iron Throne from the strength with which they were pressed against it, but the sobbing laughter that had suddenly bursted out of him. It was a sad sound, a sad sight, too. A mad, finished, defeated man, who looked thirty years older than he actually should, who had managed to turn his own family and a kingdom against himself. And now he was laughing and sobbing, all at the same time, far too deep into his own unstable mind. 

“The traitors want my city, but I’ll give them naught but ashes.” the bitter sound stopped, only to leave place for bitter words “If my son wants to be King… Let Rhaegar be King over charred bones and cooked meat” 

And from that point on, everything seemed surreal. Everything seemed to slow down, but at the same time, to speed up. “Rossart! Do it! Do it!” was the simple order the King gave. It took him a while to understand.

Rossart, the pyromancer, he smirked and his eyes were just as cruel as Aerys’. One of Rossart’s disciples faded as soon as the pyromancer’s lips pronounced an unheard whisper to his ears. The sight froze his blood. _Let Rhaegar be King over charred bones and cooked meat._

“My King, the city is ready. It won’t take me long, to get down there…” the man’s raspy voice sounded thrilled, excited even at the grim idea. And Jaime had tied up the loose ends, but still refused to believe it. 

“No! Aerys!” The Queen, that silent, ghostly figure that was standing next to her babe’s crib, she, from all of the people there, was the one speaking up against her husband’s madness. Jaime felt as if he was paralyzed, expecting to wake up from a bad dream. Rossart, just like him, seemed to be in shock because of the woman’s boldness. 

“No?” the King’s voice held a dangerous tone, Queen Rhaella had fallen on sharp edges, Jaime had realized. Would he allow it to happen one more time? His jaw was clenched, and his temples were pulsing.  

“Rossart, now. And you!” The King hissed, he was already approaching his wife, Queen Rhaella took a few steps back. “You will learn to be obedient, woman!” When Aerys’ hands went to her arms, he found himself gripping the hilt of his sword, to draw it instantly. He was a man possessed, maybe, he could not tell. He was not thinking. 

But it all happened so fast. So fucking fast.

He strode forward, sword drawn, from the corner of his eye he could see Rossart preparing to leave. Who should he stop first? At the moment, he could not think clearly. 

But time would answer his earlier question in the blink of an eye.

His eyes widened and his body tensed when he heard the King’s choked gasp, his eyes could still not believe the scene displayed in front of him. The Queen had just stabbed the King, a knife sinking into his stomach, a knife she took from her sleeve. The crimson liquid was staining the Queen’s lavender dress violently, as her face showed no mercy for her husband. “Tr-Trait-“ before the King could finish his favorite word, _Traitor,_ Rhaella Targaryen pushed the knife even further, only the hilt of it remaining out. Now her skin was also stained. 

Everything happened so fast, and his mind wanted to remain there, in that exact point, trying to process what had just happened. The Queen stabbed the King. 

But he hadn’t forget about Rossart. 

How could he? The man was about to set the city ablaze, he was about to kill everyone in King’s Landing. Rhaella’s eyes met his for a second that lasted an eternity, and soon after, Jaime knew what he had to do. He turned to the pyromancer, the one that was standing in shock, watching his King’s death with terrified eyes. 

Rossart was a coward, Jaime decided soon after. As soon as he noticed Ser Jaime, the man started running, literally, for his life. 

It wasn’t difficult for him to catch the pyromancer. It was rather easy. In just a few quick strides forward, he had managed to catch him with iron hands and iron determination. It was easy. Too easy, to cut his neck from side to side. The smell of blood in his nostrils, the drowned sound Rossart made, meant nothing to him. He felt nothing.He had killed a monster. Nothing more.

And as he walked to Rhaella Targaryen, his eyes were focused on the King. He was on his knees before his wife. It was an irony, a cruel one. Aerys Targaryen, the King, would die on his knees, before the woman he had abused and tortured so many times before. 

As he grabbed a fistful of his silver hair and pulled his head back with strength, his mind went black. Black, and crimson, crimson and black, revolving around each other. The red blade of his sword cut through Aerys’ skin, layer by layer. Those eyes, those lavender, pale eyes, they were staring right into his soul as he made the cut. And Jaime, he had seen nothing in them. Nothing, but madness.

But he was smiling. Aerys was smiling, and the choked sounds he made when his lips formed that ugly smile, they only spilled more blood from the cut on his throat. It would be a sight that would accompany him for the rest of his life, he knew. _Kingslayer_. 

The body fell to the ground, a sack of bones and meat and wrinkled skin, nothing more. He was dead. He was gone. He had killed him, the King, he had finished him. 

Princess Daenerys was crying, he heard, but he could not recall when did she start. All he knew, was that Queen Rhaella’s eyes were filled with tears, and she was still in her place, the bloody knife still in her shaking hand. 

It would never leave him. That night would forever haunt him. _Kingslayer._  

And it all stopped. Until the sound of an explosion not far from them made his stare meet the Queen’s.

Rossart’s disciple. He did not kill him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The heavy smoke covered the sky. It was burning. The Red Keep was burning. And so was her heart, and Ashara’s cries on the background were making her go insane. 

Rhaegar. Sarella. Rhaella. Daenerys. Arthur. They were all in there, and that Gods forgotten place was burning down. They could be burning too. _No. No._

Her heart was beating furiously inside her chest, and her fists were clenched so tightly, her nails were actually sinking into her skin and damaging it. She would bleed.

Lyanna stood up from her place, because she could not stand it. Her legs were shaking, but they still worked and they were still strong, and they still carried her silently to where she wanted to go. 


	45. Smoke and Fire

He could feel the blood on his face, men’s blood. He was sure there was not a single blood-free spot on it. The heat of the battle had him sweating, every single muscle on his body was tensed, yet, his armor weighted no more than a feather in that moment, and his sword seemed to cut through with unbelievable ease. Besides a few cuts, he had no major injury, his mind was sharply focused on it’s objective, and the physical pain was somewhere in the back of his mind. 

At some point, he recognized a glimpse of Arthur and Dawn amongst the men, their stares crossed briefly, and he knew Arthur had acknowledged him too. 

They would eventually reach the Iron Throne, of course, but not before leaving a carpet made of corpses behind them. It was not what he wanted, but it was what was expected of them. And there was nothing poetic, nor great in those men’s death. It was not a poetic thing to watch a man begging for his life, or to watch them bleed to death, choking with lifeless eyes. 

“We should move faster, Gerold!” he heard his own voice amongst the voices of the others, grunting and yelling in pain or fury. Ser Gerold, from his spot, nodded, while his feet landed on a man’s throat on the ground.  

But something happened, that broke his chain of thoughts and made his senses sharpen in an instant. The booming sound coming from afar, the intensity of it.  

An explosion. The unmistakable sound of an explosion, in the direction of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

He crossed stares once again with Arthur, and his friend’s eyes were wide open, a hint of something he could not quite place glimmering in them. 

And as if the sound had released some demon inside Arthur, the knight attacked his opponents faster, stronger, with urgency in his every move. 

They needed to get there as soon as possible. His mother was still there, with Daenerys. And knowing his father, the explosion had been his doing. 

And as he pierced another man’s body with his sword, his mind was elsewhere, hoping and begging to the Gods to keep his mother and sibling away from the world consuming green flames. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The faint smell of smoke danced on her nostrils, filling her lungs and giving her an idea of what it would be like in there. The passage was dark, and she could barely see, her hands touching the walls helped her to get better balance even when the irregular floor was not exactly on her side. 

It wasn’t long before she could finally catch a glimpse of light, relieved to have found her way to Maegor’s Holdfast and not to end up losing herself in the middle of those damned, confusing passages. 

She wondered what was going on there, were they alright? Was Rhaegar King now? Or…? 

She shook her head, and decided to keep those thoughts away. She had to focus on finding her niece and nothing more, and everything would be alright after that. She had to trust them. 

She reached the exit, and she found herself in her own room in Maegor’s Holdfast, everything was exactly as she left it. But something was wrong. 

She froze when she saw smoke misting through the narrow gap between the doors and the floor, black, thick smoke. The Red Keep was burning, and she bit her lower lip so hard she thought she could have spilled some blood. The thought of the green flames she once saw devouring people came to her mind, and she felt as if a needle was poking her chest. 

Where was Rhaegar? Was he safe, far from those damned flames? He was a dragon, but not even he would be able to resist the jade-colored fire his father played with. And Rhaella, and Daenerys, Sarella and Arthur. 

Aware of the situation, and wary because of it, she put her ear against the wooden door of her room, and listened carefully, searching for any sign of people outside. Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of men yelling, but far away. It was her chance. 

She opened the door quickly then, and her eyes felt like burning when the black smoke from before spread around her and fanned against her. She was not expecting that. It was not suffocating, _yet_ , but it would be soon enough. She had little time to find her niece. 

And the most stupid idea formed in her head, to search for Rhaegar, or for Rhaella. But that was too risky, and to search for her husband in the middle of a battle was beyond stupidity. Yet, how she wished she could somehow know he was safe, _alive_. He had to be. He was going to be. 

She strode amidst the thick smoke through the hallways, and she ripped a piece of fabric from the hem of her dress as she could, in order to cover her nose with it. The smell was getting stronger. Otherwise, her lungs would fill with the dark smoke that thickened by the minute. 

She heard a baby’s cry from afar, coming from one of the many rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast. It could be Sarella. Or maybe Daenerys. Her soul lightened, glad to have found at least one of them already. 

Either way, she followed the bitter cry, hoping with all her heart that the one producing such cries was alright. 

The hallways were illuminated by what she feared the most. Emerald flames, consuming the stilts slowly, yet violently, wrapping the stones with green fury. If she didn’t hurry, she would end up cooked inside that place, she was already feeling her body temperature elevating due to the heat.  

Finally, behind the doors of one of the many rooms, she heard the cries clearly. 

Lyanna pushed the doors open, her sight searching across the room desesperately, and she found a young woman, Sarella’s wet nurse, with the child in her arms, and a frightened expression upon her face at the sight of her. The woman was absolutely terrified, her defensive posture against the sudden intrusion told her that much.  

“Sarella!” Lyanna cried in a rush, as her legs carried her immediately towards the young woman as quick as she could. 

The woman, from her spot, seemed relieve, and her shoulders loosened. But still, the concern was palpable. 

“Y-Your Highness… There is so much smoke, but the guards, they wouldn’t let us get out” the woman holding her niece claimed, desperation staining the tone of her voice and her eyes began to fill with tears. 

“We need to get out of here. Now.” Lyanna said as she took the babe in her arms, making sure that Sarella was well covered with the cloth that wrapped her tiny body. 

The woman in front of her spoke once again then. “But the King-“

“The King is not here.” Lyanna hissed, some part of her sick of hearing those two damned words every time something bad happened. _The King. The King._ “And there is no one at the doors now. We must leave!” 

In the middle of Sarella’s cries, Lyanna held the babe to her chest tightly, trying to cover her small, reddened face in order to protect her from the smoke that was slowly filling the room. It would be quick, to go back to her chambers and to simply escape through the secret passage she knew was there. She would send the woman with Sarella to the ship with Ashara, and she… She didn’t know what she would do. 

“Come with me” Lyanna practically ordered, and without a word, the young woman followed. 

Out in the hallway, the smoke was thicker, blacker, and the emerald flames shone through them. She felt her skin heating, the sensation almost burning. It was a nightmare. 

From far away, she heard men’s voices, and she fancied she could hear her husband’s voice in the distance. It made her steps hesitant for a moment. Her heart stopped. But it wasn’t him, she knew. It wasn’t Rhaegar. She would recognize his iron tones instantly, if it were him. 

Against her mind, she kept walking, almost running, passing by the flames that were slowly catching up to them, with Sarella in her arms and the young woman following her like a frightened shadow. She felt her chest constricting, and she coughed a few times from the lack of oxygen. With both hands busy carrying and protecting the babe from the smoke, it was an impossible task to also cover her nose like before. But they were close, and she had to hurry. 

In the middle of her exhaustion, a heavy metallic sound ahead of them called her attention. 

Steps. Heavy steps, she realized. Followed by others. 

Her heart began to race in her chest, and her worst fear materialized in front of her. She could see silhouettes in front of her, although it was dark and blurry, she could still see them. One in particular, frightened her to the bones. 

A man, a mile tall and as big as a tower was approaching them. Her breathing was ragged, and it only made her cough again, but her eyes never left the dark silhouette. She could see the man’s face then. A satisfied smirk formed in his lips the moment his eyes landed, first, on the thin golden circlet crowning her head, and then on her face. That man recognized her, even when she could not recognize him. And from that strange smirk, she could tell his intentions were not good. 

Her instincts urged her to run, to go as fast as possible in the opposite direction, but for a moment, her legs felt paralyzed. Besides, the wildfire was still there and…  What woke her from that trance, was the sound of the young woman behind her running in the opposite direction and getting lost amidst the smoke, without another word. She left, she had left her there. And she did not lose another second and imitated the woman’s actions as she could. 

Sarella was finally quiet, and Lyanna wondered if she should be glad or if she should be scared. The smoke was probably making her weaker, her eyes were half closed. _Gods, Gods._

She was so close to her chambers, so close to her escape. But that damned man had to appear, and now, he was following her, he was chasing her, she was sure, she could hear his heavy steps behind her, but she couldn’t look back or she would fall to the ground. 

Her chambers were passing that man, so she only had one choice. Rhaegar’s chambers. 

She opened the doors as she could, throwing one quick glance towards the giant man that was chasing her before she got in, realizing with horror that he was running, getting closer and closer to them. 

With her only free arm, Lyanna locked the doors with the bar resting near them, taking strength from somewhere deep within her.  

Her eyes travelled across the room, trying to find another passage like the one hidden in her room. There had to be one, somewhere. The library pushed against a wall seemed like a good choice. She would only have to move it, and they would be saved. 

But the dry sound of wood creaking made her tremble. Looking at the doors, the wooden bar that was holding the doors locked, made the sound. That man was lunging against the doors like a possessed beast, and the bar wouldn’t resist much longer if he kept his pace. 

There was no time. No time to move that damn library. For a few seconds, she contemplated her possible death, and it took her breath away. Who was that man? Why did he want to kill her? Because she didn’t know how, but she was sure of his intentions. Those eyes. Those eyes were the eyes of a killer, the eyes of someone who enjoyed killing. Just for pleasure. 

A thought crossed her mind like a thunder. She probably had no chances against such a beast. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t defend herself, _and_ Sarella as she could. 

She went to Rhaegar’s desk, and opened the second drawer. The memory of her wedding night was still fresh in her mind. She remembered that dagger, with rubies incrusted in it, the one he used to cut his thumb that night. She could only beg to the Old and new Gods that it was still resting there. 

And there it was, lying on the drawer, valyrian steel, sharp and shiny. It was her only chance. 

Another charge at the door, and she knew that damned bar wouldn’t resist much longer. 

She crawled under the bed, with Sarella tightly against her chest, and the dagger in the other hand. It was her only weapon, she realized. 

She looked down at her niece, her tiny body was on the floor then, but she kept her hand under her head. She had heavy lids, indicating that she was getting weaker and weaker. The amount of smoke was too much for a babe to take. 

Lyanna had never been one to wish for a charming knight to save her, like other maids. But in that particular occasion, she couldn’t think of another thing, another way of salvation. She was not an ordinary lady, granted, she had skills at fighting. But with that beast attacking her, her chances would reduce to nothing. And she cursed herself for not being stubborn enough and fight her father when she had to in order to have a better training, like her brothers.  

Another charge at the doors, and from her spot under the bed, she saw the wooden bar that kept the doors locked destroyed, parted in two, and in the floor. Lyanna held her breath, and begged for Sarella to stay quiet, and for her luck to stay with her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He felt the blood leaving his face and his limbs stiffening at the sight. 

Only minutes after they all heard the explosion, they rushed to the Throne Room, cutting through every enemy in front of them, to finally reach their destination.

And when the doors parted, the sight of his father’s corpse, lying on a pool of his own blood, greeted him grimly. Next to him, Ser Jaime’s and his bloodied sword, and also, his mother, with her lavender dress stained in crimson and little Daenerys in her arms. Both of them with eyes wide open, and as if they were ready to leave the place. 

Another corpse was lying on the floor. Rossart’s body, he noticed. Not that it mattered to him. At least not when he was still trying to understand what had happened there.  

“Your Grace” _Your Grace._ Gerold Hightower said in disbelief, referring not to the corpse of his father lying on the floor, not to the Queen, but to _him._ He was King now. 

“Rhaegar!” his mother’s terrified voice reached his ears, and that was the sound that made him react to the real world. 

“Mother” to ask what happened there, it’d be useless. It was obvious. However, the details were a mystery to him. But he would have the time to solve them later, because something in his mother’s face told him the situation was turning worse by the minute. 

His eyes could not leave his father’s corpse, and for a brief moment, he felt as if he could just throw up. 

His father was there, lifeless, his expression twisted, a sadistic, strange smile curving his lips. Was that truly the last image he would get from him? 

His eyes went to his mother then, his mother, the one that was already standing right in front of him, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. “We must leave this place, my son. Your father’s pyromancer, Rossart-“

“He’s dead” Rhaegar automatically said out of a reflex, trying to put the pieces together, but not necessarily making sense. There was something missing, he knew. 

“But his servant is not. We heard an explosion in Maegor’s Holdfast. Wildfire. This place is going to be consumed by flames soon” Ser Jaime Lannister spoke, his body was there, but his eyes were lost somewhere, not truly focused on anything. It was as if the young Lannister knight was just a ghost speaking hollow words. 

Maegor’s Holdfast was burning. That was what they all heard, then. And if Maegor’s Holdfast was being consumed by wildfire, they had to do something to stop the flames, otherwise, they would spread. They would spread across King's Landing, devouring everything in it's path.   

“My niece! My niece is still there. I must go!” Arthur was the one to speak this time, he looked ready to leave, desperation twisting his features.

His niece? Ashara's babe? She was supposed to be safe already. How could it be? 

“Wait, Arthur” Rhaegar said, and the knight turned around to face him, impatience crossing his face. “I’ll go with you” Arthur’s eyes were hesitant then, but he only nodded after. It was the least he could do. The babe they supposed was there, was Arthur’s niece. Lyanna’s niece too. She was supposed to be on that ship outside the Red Keep already, not in there, in the middle of the madness that had unravelled. “Ser Gerold. Take my mother and Daenerys out of here. Gather men and try to extinguish the wildfire, otherwise, the city might suffer” 

“Rhaegar, no! ’Tis too dangerous! This is wildfire we’re discussing!” his mother was already in front of him, a hand placed upon his chest. 

All he did then, was hug her. And when he let go, her white skin was stained with blood from where his own face had touched her, and her tears were already soaking her cheeks. “Please, my son” she said as she raised a hand to touch his dirty face. 

“I will return” was all he said as he grabbed her hand softly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, guys! :) 
> 
> btw, I must warn you, the next chapter is going to be a little gore... Just for you to be prepared, hehe.


	46. Fire and Blood

“Why are you crying?” the prince’s sweet little voice made her lower her sight, only to find curious lavender eyes staring up at her, and then, in the direction of the Red Keep, the place he called home, that was being surrounded by a thick layer of smoke. Her heart shrank in her chest once again, and tears kept falling down, even with the child’s worried, confused stare upon her. “When is mother coming back? Where is Rhaegar?” 

She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a sob, the last thing she wanted was to scare the little boy even more. But the thought of her small and precious daughter trapped in that Gods forgotten place had her drowning in the deep waters of desperation. The lack of signs from her brother, only worsened it all. 

Ashara wiped the salad tears off of her face with the back of her hand, and offered the prince a small reassuring smile as she tried to prevent her voice from breaking while speaking. “They will return soon, little prince.” his big eyes lightened with her answer, but she could tell that he was not yet completely satisfied with her answer. The pout on his lips was also very telling. The child’s innocence was a heart warming thing to contemplate, but not even such a thing served her as consolation, the thought of Sarella not leaving her mind for a single second. 

“I hope Lya returns soon too.” Viserys had said, resigned, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes went one more time to the smoke surrounded edification in front of them. 

 _Lyanna?_ Instinctively, she looked around, trying to find a glimpse of the she wolf anywhere near them, failing in her search. But she had to be there, where else would she be? The Prince, or, the one she suspected was soon to be King, had specifically asked her to remain there, for her own safety. Arthur did not explain much to her, in fact, he did not explain a thing. All he said was that they were to remain there until he or any other Kingsguard came to escort them back to the Red Keep. “Lyanna is here, little prince.” she said, not so sure anymore, since not a trace of the she wolf could be found “We can look for her if you want” 

Prince Viserys denied with his head in a childish, stubborn motion, his cheeks inflating with air. “She is not here. I looked.” 

That could not be possible. She straightened in her position, doubt starting to take root within her. What evil spirit could’ve possessed Lyanna’s body in order to make her leave the ship, the only safe place in that moment? Ashara parted her lips, still unsure of what she was about to do, and called for one of the soldiers with the least distressed voice she could produce. 

One of them quickly approached, a Tyrell soldier, she noticed when her eyes landed on his armor. With Sarella’s absence, she hadn’t had the time to notice the fact that they were in one of the Tyrell ships. It was only then that she saw past her daughter’s disappearance, and put the pieces together. Realization dawned upon her, and it made her fears bigger and bigger. “Have you seen the Princess?” she finally asked to the man. 

It took them only a few minutes to search the entire ship, and only a few more to discover that, just as the little prince had said, Lyanna was not there. 

That was a bad thing. A very, very bad thing. The men’s faces were stone after the discovery, they had one task to accomplish, to protect the royal family, and with Lyanna lost somewhere else, they had failed their task miserably. Heads could roll, who knew. It all depended on their luck now. 

Ashara walked around the deck with ghostly steps, oblivious to the men’s altered states and dialogues. It was all so confusing so chaotic. And as she put her hands on the rails, something called her attention.  A rope was tied, and hanging from the rails on the deck’s edge. 

The rope’s end touched the wooden dock’s surface through which she had imagined her brother coming with her daughter in his arms countless times in the last hour. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.  

One of the man that positioned himself next to her, watched the same rope with horror written all over his face. And at that point, the fact that Lyanna had either escaped, or had been taken from that ship, could not be denied. 

The next thing she heard was a man shouting energetically next to her, a yell that brought the entire crew to the very edge. “The Princess had been taken!” 

Because why would she voluntarily leave?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna felt her wall crumbling down, as the tears gathered in her eyes the moment she saw the man’s feet striding into the room. Panic was knocking at her door, and she happened to open the door for it. Her gaze followed the man attentively, her hand clutching the dagger tightly as if her life depended on it. In truth, her life possibly did.  

He went to the closet first, and she knew, she had little time before he discovered their hiding place under Rhaegar’s bed. Her mind was already machinating ways of escape, but none seemed effective. 

Apparently angry at the results, the man threw the heavy wooden closet to the floor, making a loud noise that made her jump in fear, her heart pounding in her chest wildly. At her side, Sarella moved uncomfortably, her little nose wrinkling and her mouth pouting  as a sign of what was about to come. _Don’t cry, please, don’t cry._ But the babe, unaware of the danger lurking inside that room, let a loud cry out, product of the mess the man was doing in there by throwing stuff left and right, searching for them. 

Lyanna felt cold sweat on the back of her neck. They were doomed. 

Having known herself discovered, Lyanna prepared herself, trying to hold Sarella as she could with one arm, her legs struggling with the skirts of her dress in order to move and try to get out of there as soon as she could. Her mind was thinking fast, loud, specially when she saw the man approaching the bed with long strides. 

The first thing that came to her mind was to leave, to crawl from under the bed and run as fast as she could with her niece in her arms. At that point, even the wildfire spreading across the Red Keep seemed like a better choice than to be at that man’s mercy. And it would’ve been a good thing, to have a choice.

But the moment in which she felt an exceedingly big hand grabbing her ankle, she knew what was coming, and she heard herself screaming involuntarily at the thought, along with the babe’s cries. Out of surprise and fear, and in an useless attempt to stop herself from being dragged out of there, she lost the dagger. With her free hand, she scratched the floor, feeling as her nails broke in the attempt, ignoring the little blood that emerged from her mistreated fingers. 

The huge man she had then in front of her was smiling after she was dragged out, satisfied, and before she could even fight him back, he pinned her down to the floor with incredible strength, making her release her hold on her small niece. The kicks she gave him, they hadn’t even tickled the man, to her most utter horror.

“Let go of me!” she screamed as she uselessly tried to fight, hearing the desperate cries at her side did certainly not help. She felt impotent as her strength reduced to nothing, compared to the man’s. “Let me go!” with every sound and motion she made, the man seemed more and more pleased, as if he were enjoying her desperation. 

When one of his hands went to her bosom, she squirmed under his hold, rabid tears burning her eyes at the outrage. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed at him, and it made him laugh. Never before had she felt so much repulsion and hate towards someone. She spat him in the face, as she kept trying to release herself from his hold, thinking for a second that she could actually escape.

The man upon her wiped his face, angry eyes staring down at her, and a chill ran down her spine as fear nested in her chest. “Little whining bitch” Soon after, one of his hands struck her across the face so violently, she felt dizzy for a moment. 

More hot tears rolled down her cheeks. No one had ever laid a single finger upon her, no one. 

The man’s next move frightened her to the bones and her senses sharpened instantly, against her best and most fierce efforts, he had pushed her legs apart and positioned himself between them. That couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t… And yet, it was. 

She felt her heart about to pierce her chest, her blood pressure increasing considerably. That disgusting man, he… _He wants to…_ She could only curse the moment in which she decided to leave that ship, she could only curse herself for being so stupid, always getting herself into trouble. If only she had trusted Arthur, if only she had stayed were Rhaegar told her to stay, naught of it would be happening. 

She was in her own, Rhaegar was not there to save her this time like he always did. She was alone, she depended exclusively on herself. 

Lyanna sank her nails in his arms, trying to stop him from doing what he was about to do. But nonetheless, and regard her fierce efforts, it was like pushing and fighting a wall. And with one single harsh tug, he ripped the upper part of her dress, leaving her exposed before his lustful eyes. 

She felt her stomach revolving, her head spinning, and her blood rushing when she tried to move her arms to cover herself, but couldn’t because he had pinned her hands against the floor, looking at her as if she were a common whore he was about to enjoy. It was hell. It was a nightmare. And no matter how hard she fought, there was nothing she could actually do to release herself from him. Impotence tears left her eyes, they never really stopped.  

Suddenly, he turned his face towards Sarella. Sarella. She had forgotten about her for those brief seconds. She was crying, incessantly, the loud cries were piercing her heart and soul, and she herself felt just as defenseless as her niece was in that moment. She couldn’t let that man hurt her, but if she couldn’t even defend herself, how would she protect Sarella? But why would he hurt her? He couldn’t. She was just a babe. 

But her worst fear materialized right in front of her. She felt a heavy pressure upon her middle, he was holding her down with his own weight, his legs at each side of her as he sat upon her. With horror, she watched as he took Sarella by the neck with one hand, and raised her little body from the floor, making her cry even more. Her pale skin was getting blue from the pressure around her little neck. 

“Please! Don’t hurt her!” she heard herself begging with a broken voice, the choked cries of her niece thundering her heart painfully.  “Please! Please! Just take _me,_ but don’t hurt her! She’s just a babe, she’s-”

Before she could finish her sentence, the man’s grin widened. It was as if he was a devil, enjoying the suffering, delighting himself with her cries. “I just hate loud children” he said.

And that would be a phrase Lyanna would remember for the rest of her life. 

He smashed her small head against the floor. 

It all happened so quickly, but yet, it was as if she was seeing it all with the time running slower. She had stopped crying, Sarella. There was blood everywhere, she could even feel some warm drops of the crimson liquid staining her face. She felt as if she could just throw up.

Her niece’s upper part was crushed. Flesh and blood were grotesquely spilled all over the floor and in between the man’s fingers. 

The air left her lungs, and she felt her body stiff in place, her eyes, still unbelieving of what she had just watched, burned from the salty tears and refused to close. 

The only indicator that told her she was screaming like a possessed woman, was the man’s hand striking her face once again. The hand soaked with blood and flesh.  

She didn’t know how long had it been. She didn’t even realize when he positioned himself again between her legs and started ripping her dress even more until she was completely exposed from her waist up. She was numb in her place, the only movement she could do in that moment, was to turn her face away from the flesh and blood and the tiny body lying lifeless on the floor. 

It was as if suddenly she couldn’t hear anything anymore, with her sight lost in the ceiling, feeling those disgusting hand’s all over her body. 

“You won’t fight me anymore, little one?” the man mockingly said as he placed his bloody hands on her chest and stroked her breasts violently, but she was oblivious to whatever he had to say, to his disgusting and insulting touch, and the only reaction he ripped out of her was a disgusted grimace. “You won’t enjoy this, you know?” he mocked her once again, while lifting her skirts in an unkind manner. She closed her eyes, her wet eyelashes touching her skin. Gods, if only Rhaegar could help her, if only he was there, if only he could kill that beast and take her out of that place.  

It was her fault. It was her fault. Sarella’s death. And that was all she could think about when she turned her head to the opposite side. 

Why was that happening to her? No matter how much she fought, no matter how many tears she spilled, it was useless.  

A golden glint caught her eye under the bed then. The extern situation was breaking her already shattered heart even more. She only had a few seconds before that disgusting murdered pleased himself with her. The thought of it, the feeling of his bloody hands on her, that blunt, threatening pressure between her legs, it all made her mad with ire. She didn’t even have the guts to look at the other side once again, to confirm that what she had just seen was in fact true. She didn’t have the guts to watch the tiny, destroyed body next to her. It made her blood boil with rage and pain and madness. 

And Lyanna, as if she was possessed by some angry spirit, stretched her arm the most she could, taking advantage of the man’s lustful distraction. She felt his teeth biting her chest gruffly, at the same time in which her hand finally reached the dagger, and her fingers encircled it’s hilt. 

Without a second thought, and in a quick movement, she sank the entire blade of the dagger into the man’s thick neck. Blood was instantly pouring from the wound, spurt after spurt. 

She heard his yowl of pain, and watched as he erupted a gout of bright, crimson blood, coughing his life away. It disgusted her, to have his blood on her face too. But not even the satisfaction the sight gave her, could erase the sickening feeling gathering down in her stomach. _Sarella is dead. She’s dead._ She thought as she twisted the blade mercilessly into his neck, plucking another painful scream from him. “Bitch!” his yell sounded choked as she retired the dagger from his neck, only to sink it back down, this time, into his back. He yelled again.

And then again, and again, and again, and again, as the dagger slid in and out of his back, and into his neck. And finally, out of rage, out of pain, out of _hate,_ she stabbed him in the face, feeling more and more blood spilling all over her. At some point, the wounded, disfigured man on top of her fell lifelessly upon her body, his weight crushing her. But she didn’t care. 

She gave him one final stab in the middle of the eyes, as the hot, rabid tears kept soaking her face, in her head, hopefully washing the blood away, and her loud, mournful sobs were the only sound in the middle of the stance.

She could no longer hear Sarella’s cries, or the man’s voice, or the sounds of her struggling. Only her own painful sobs. 

And she inhaled deeply, feeling the dark smoke slowly filling her lungs. It all went black soon after. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it was his mind, playing dirty tricks on him. But he could swear on the Seven that he had heard Lyanna scream from afar. And his heart leaped in his chest at the thought. _It can’t be._  

“Did you hear that?” Arthur’s voice brought him back from that trance. He heard her too. He fucking heard it too. 

He shared a look with his friend, the motion confirming his fear. 

His legs rushed immediately, following the direction from where the painful sound came. He only hoped that it was all a mistake, it had to be someone else, it had to. She could not be there, it was impossible. Arthur had left her in the ship. 

He decided that it was not her. It was just impossible. 

As they went further, he saw the walls around them were burning, and he could hear his men’s footfalls behind him. 

Another sound made his blood rush in his veins. A man’s voice cursing. And Gods be good, it was accompanied by Lyanna’s screams once again. 

Following the sound as a mad hound, he found himself standing in front of his own bedchamber. The doors were open, and the fire was already consuming part of the stance, and even began to form a thin line before the doors. 

But all of it reduced to nothing, when he noticed his wife lying under a huge man’s lifeless body. Fire surrounding them. He noticed that her dress was ripped, and that there was an alarming amount of blood pooling underneath them, and _Gods,_ there was a tiny corpse lying next to them. He didn’t need to be a genius to know to whom it belonged. 

For a moment, he thought his ire would consume him and leave nothing but ashes instead of a body. What had they done to her? His teeth were gritted harshly at the thought, his blood boiling, and without thinking it twice, and against the rational thinking and his men’s warnings, he ran into the room, feeling the flames embracing his armor ardently, his skin burning underneath. 

He kicked the man’s body away from Lyanna without remorse. The way in which she was lying there was telling. Had that beast dared to hurt her? There was no time to think about it, no matter how mad the thought made him feel. 

He pressed his ear against her bare chest, only to notice that she was still breathing. Gods, she was still breathing. He felt as if he could also breath once again.  

His eyes went to the crushed little body near Lyanna, and his stomach twisted painfully. Sarella, he realized with horror. It all seemed so surreal. The baby was dead. And what a horrible dead she suffered. 

The sound of a wooden beam falling behind him made him react. He took Lyanna in his arms effortlessly, pressing her against his chest in order to protect her from the flames consuming the place, and covering her body as he could. His chest ached at the sight of her. She was bathed in blood, her clothes ripped apart in a savage manner. He felt as if he could just revive that dead man lying in a corner, only to kill him once again. And then again, a thousand deaths would never be enough to satiate his thirst, would never be enough for whatever he did to her. He could simply explode. 

He held Lyanna firmly in his arms as he walked out of the chamber, the feeling of the burning iron of his armor against his skin was hidden somewhere in the back of his mind. In that moment, he didn’t care about the fire, or about the unbelieving way in which his men and Arthur were staring at him, as if they had seen a ghost. Because all he cared about, was that she survived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup.


	47. Aftermath and Grief

His mother’s hand rested upon his shoulder as a sign of support, he supposed. “You should let the maester see those wounds of yours” she suggested in a calmed tone, but he had nary a word for her as a response. He had cuts, and wounds and burns, but they were the last thing he could truly think of.  Still, his mother’s lingering stare forced an answer out of him, probably, not the kindest one he could give. “Later” 

Judging by the grimace twisting his mother’s delicate features faintly, that was not the answer she wanted to hear. But she knew better than to insist upon her word, and Rhaella remained silent, with her lavender eyes down to the floor. 

It was over. It was all over. 

His father’s body had been already prepared for the upcoming funeral, the fire consuming the Red Keep had been extinguished successfully, and the men were already celebrating the victory in his name. He won. He was King now. And at a high price. 

The doors of the chambers in which Lyanna was, still unconscious, remained closed, and he was out there, waiting for a sign, for anything really, until the maester or the septa inside that damned room came out and told him he could get in. He didn’t need someone to clean his wounds, he needed word of the woman inside that damned place. 

The state in which he found her, the thought of it made his blood boil and his chest ache and his temples pound loudly in his head. He could not make the image go away, it was haunting. The state of her, the bruises, the blood, the damned signs that led him to believe she could have been abused. And the babe, Arthur’s niece… He didn’t even want to think about it, but that was another sight that would never abandon his mind. Another innocent life. 

Gregor Clegane, ‘The Mountain’. He was a lucky man to have died before he could put his hands on him. 

His body had been found partially burned after he took his wife out of that room, with his own dagger stabbed between his eyes, and a painful expression painted on his face. Lyanna’s doing, he guessed. And now, Gregor Clegane’s corpse was somewhere in his Keep, lying underneath a pile of other corpses under his own commands. The only reason his head was not adorning a wall, was because there was something that told him he should just wait, if he wanted to get to the bottom of it. But the man’s death, that was not enough, it would never be. 

To just dismember him after his death? Not nearly what he truly deserved. 

His victory had tasted sour, after all.

A sharp, piercing scream coming from the room in which his wife was, alerted his senses, for a moment, his body stiffened before striding quickly towards it. 

The doors were immediately opened by his doing, and what he found, was just another bitter drop in his victory cup. 

Lyanna, with a wild mane and her body clutched in one corner of the bed, was the one producing such screams. A vessel flied across the room only to shatter against a wall into tiny pieces that were soon enough sprayed all over the floor, mere inches away from the maester’s head. “Don’t touch me!” she cried as she put her arms around her legs, as if she were a small, frightened child. There was a big, dark bruise staining the creamy skin of her cheek, her slim frame shaking uncontrollably. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he heard himself asking, part in disbelief, part in anger. The septa standing in a corner was as pale as snow, with eyes as wide as eggs, and the maester, old Pycelle, was still with his hands up in the air as if trying to protect himself from the attack. 

“Y-Your Grace… As soon as she woke up in the middle of the exam I was performing, she started screaming and throwing things at us” Pycelle explained with his usual, pestiferous slowness. Something about that man always irked him terribly. But at that very moment, he felt as if he could simply order his head to be cut off his neck. 

He felt as if his head was about to explode. Lyanna was hiding her face in her hands, sobbing desperately. “Out” he ordered, feeling his patience running thinner by the second. In half a second, the room was emptied. His mother, who at some point had entered the room too, gave him one last wary look before abandoning the stance. A look he barely even registered it, in his own state of uneasiness.

As he closed the doors, he heard Lyanna continuing sobbing under her breath. 

She looked as fragile as glass, broken, with her face buried between her knees and the unceasing sobs coming one after another in waves that were not going to stop.

He approached the bed, slowly, and sat next to her with some kind of silent care of his every move. She was shaking, he noticed, her thin fingers proving it, and he could feel a hole forming in his stomach.  

He put a hand on her head, and she jerked in her position, frightened eyes staring widely at him. “No! No!” she cried when she saw herself surrounded by one of his arms. Even the slightest touch seemed too much for her to bear, and it was breaking his own heart. 

The reaction surprised him, he could not deny. And it was certainly not a good indicator. “Lyanna…” he murmured quietly “It’s me. It’s only me” his hand reached her cheek, caressing it as lightly as a feather would, her greyish eyes fixed on him then. A glimpse of recognition lightened them up, but her face never relaxed. Instead, tears kept gathering, and a sour expression took over. 

The next thing he felt, were her arms surrounding his torso tighter than any other time before, her face buried in his chest. What did that monster do to her? He closed his eyes as he embraced her too, one of his hands stroking her hair gently, as if she could easily break.  All he wanted to do was to have Gregor Clean in front of him and burn him alive. But not even a thousand deaths would be enough. “You’re safe now” he said in her ear, and he felt her trembling. 

The next thing he heard, was the drowned sound of her sobs against his chest, her slim frame shaking in his embrace. “She’s dead” Lyanna cried bitterly “She’s dead because I could not protect her”

Gods be good, not even a soldier could’ve protected Sarella against The Mountain. Nobody had arrived in time, and maybe that was _his_ fault. But not hers. “Lyanna… ”

“He killed her! He killed her, Rhaegar!” images of the scattered flesh across the floor of his own bedchamber came to his mind, every detail still vivid in his memory. He could not even begin to imagine what she had in her own, having seen it all, having felt it all. “He killed her, and he wouldn’t stop after!” 

“Lyanna” he said, trying to calm himself before speaking. _He wouldn’t stop after_ she had said, and the implications had him raging on the inside. But to show his anger, it would only serve to make it all worse for her. “Lyanna, listen to me” he tried to shush her. Even if he himself felt like his own spirit could just rush out of his body and follow a dead man seeking for vengeance -not justice, he recognized- he tried to remain calmed. “Please. There was naught you could do. You tried to save her, but not even most knights could’ve done something in that situation.” he avoided to name the man like a plague. Because of her, but also, because it made his own blood boil with the intensity of a hundred suns, to think about him. 

She looked up at him, her delicate features carrying a gruff, lilac tone in them that spread across her face. Gods. How he wished he was there before everything happened. That shouldn’t have happened. 

But what exactly happened? He didn’t dare to ask because he could not stand to hurt her even more by pushing her into those awful memories. But it was necessary. If anything happened to her, if she was even more hurt, he had to know… “What did he do, Lyanna?” he finally asked, tracing her jawline softly with his fingers, his other arm still surrounding her. 

“He…” Lyanna whispered, a pale ray of sunlight kissed her bruised skin then. He could, however, not decide wether he had seen hate, or angst, or maybe both in her eyes. “He tried to force himself in me and… He could not…” her lower lip was trembling, he noticed “I… I stabbed him many times and…” true. He recalled then the vague memory of his own dagger into the man’s corpse, and the many, many stabs. Her voice was about to break, he could tell, and more tears were gathering in her already swollen eyes. 

“Shh…” Rhaegar caressed her hair gently, making himself a promise, a promise that claimed that no harm would ever go to her again for as long as he lived.

And as if the woman clutching to him had heard his thoughts, she started crying once again. She was still in shock. Her body was there, with him, but her mind was still there, watching Sarella die, suffering under that man’s disgusting torture. 

He tried to stand up then, but she climbed to his shoulders with her small hands, grappling to him as if her own life depended on it. “Don’t leave. Please. Don’t” she cried. 

He would not leave, of course. He only wanted to get something to calm her nerves. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise”

She let him go then, but he noticed the way in which her hands fisted the sheets underneath her nervously. 

When he opened the doors, Pycelle was standing outside, along with his mother, who gave him a questioning, concerned look. 

“Son. How is she?” the Queen mother had approached quickly, and positioned herself next to Pycelle. Her concern was real, he could see. But that was not the best moment to give explanations. “She needs to rest. We’ll talk about it later” Rhaegar lowered his voice, throwing a quick glance in Lyanna’s direction over his shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on her fisting hands. _Gods_. 

Her mother was quick to understand, and simply nodded in agreement. There would be time for it all, but in that moment, he could not leave _her_ alone. He had never seen her in such a state. And something crawling from the back of his mind, sent chills to his spine… Somehow, the image of her, so broken, reminded faintly of his mother in earlier years. 

Rhaegar pushed the thoughts away then. “Maester Pycelle” 

“Your Grace” Pycelle replied to the mention of his name, his hunched form taking a slow step forward, as if he was ready to get into the room. 

Rhaegar did not move an inch when the old man tried to make a path for himself, and that was enough for Pycelle to understand that he was not summoning him into the bedchamber or asking him to continue with his examination. 

“Bring her tea, with some essence of nightshade. She’s too altered. Now” 

He closed the doors on the maester’s face then, the Gods knew he could barely even stand his presence at that very moment. Pycelle was always somewhat irritating to him, but after the episode that developed earlier in those chambers… His tolerance towards the man decreased considerably. 

With long strides, he went back to the bed in which she was sitting, and took his place next to her once again. 

She wrapped her arms around him, as he simply stroked her hair. Her trembling had stopped, she was no longer shaking like a leaf in autumn. Still, the pain across her features was more than evident. 

The Mountain was dead. Yes. But he would not be satisfied with only his head adorning the walls of his keep. Someone had to be behind it all… And the first candidate he could think of, had claws.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His sister had finally fallen asleep, with her small babe -the one that was still alive- in her arms. Ever since she found out about Sarella’s death, she refused to be separated from her other daughter. Even if she herself was a sobbing mess, and could not stop crying and asking why.

The aftermath of losing one of your children, that was. To be so scared, in so much pain, that you could simply not let go of the one thing keeping you from falling apart.

 _Why_. 

That was all she asked. Why. Why did they do that to her, to her precious, innocent daughter. Why did they kill her? 

It had been a mess. All of it. When she heard about Sarella’s death, she fainted, her body collapsing on the cold, hard floor before anyone could hold her. Thankfully, Elaena had been in her crib and not in her mother’s arms when it happened. And when she woke up… Arthur would never forget the most sour cries he had ever heard in his entire life. His sister’s cries. All of it while she twisted in his embrace, her small fists hitting his chest and arms in protest when he tried to stop her from hitting walls.

It was a heartbreaking sound, the sound of her cries. A mother that had lost her child. The pain was unbearable.  

And Gods, he didn’t even want to think about it. He had seen his niece’s corpse, right after Rhaegar carried Lyanna out of his bedchamber. The thought made his stomach curl. And that was why, he wished his sister would remain asleep, even if not even her own sleep was peaceful. That much he could tell from the way in which she held her babe in bed. 

He would never forget. It was his fault, after all. He was the one supposed to rescue her, he was the one who had to take her out from the Red Keep in time… And he failed. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing slightly. “How are you bearing?” Ser Gerold asked, his eyes, those of a brother who shared his pain in silence. 

“Like hell.” he said as his grip became tighter on dawn’s hilt. And then, he remembered it… A Lannister man was the one who killed his niece, who maybe even raped the Princess. Lannisters. What a plague they were. He never particularly liked them, with their arrogant look and presumptuous air. But now, he despised them. “I should go and find Tywin Lannister and-“

Gerold denied with his head then. “The King has specifically asked not to say a word about what we found, about _this_. Specially not to Tywin Lannister. ’Tis all to be kept a secret. The King has the same suspicions, my friend. Let’s not ruin whatever he has in mind for the lion, for the urge of the moment.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... Thank you all for the awesome comments and the support. You're all wonderful readers :)


	48. About Loss

_Tywin Lannister fled the city._

Those were Jon’s words.

Somebody had alerted Tywin Lannister, of that, he was absolutely sure. Not about his plans for him, of course not, since nobody apart from Jon, and some members of his Kingsguard knew. But about Lyanna, Sarella, The Mountain. What they found just a few days ago.

An informant alerted him, one of the many he surely had in King’s Landing to pry information. And the lion was no fool, he knew he would be called to respond for his bannermen’s actions. For _his_ actions. 

What was his plan, then? To hide in his rock and scheme his way out of it?   

Rhaegar drummed his fingers twice against the wood of his desk, impatience blooming in his chest. He would not let him go that easily. “Gather all the men you need, Jon, and go after him. Bring him back to King’s Landing under arrest for treason.” such an action would certainly wound the lion’s pride, of course. But he could not care less. “I want Tywin Lannister locked up in the black cells” 

Jon Connington nodded, promising determination crossing his features at the order. “As you command, Your Grace.” he finally said, before abandoning the stance with only a swish of his boots.

Rhaella, who until then remained quiet, turned to him the moment in which the doors were closed behind Jon. He knew what she was thinking, even before she offered any word.

“’Tis wise?” she looked up at him when he stood up and walked to the window, the city’s sight greeting him from afar “Tywin Lannister is a dangerous man, Rhaegar”

“And that is why he needs to be dealt with” he coldly stated, his gaze lost somewhere outside the window. “I care not even if he’s made a pact with the Stranger. He tried to murder my wife” he reminded her bitterly. 

The lion’s scheme had certainly not succeeded in it’s objective: To kill. But it had certainly scarred Lyanna, perhaps forever.

He had always been a just man, or at least, a justice seeking one. But in the darkest corners of his mind, vengeance sounded like something just too appealing for him to ignore. 

Every night, she would sleep in his arms, only to wake up in the middle of some twisted nightmare that kept haunting her. Not even in her dreams, she was able to let go  and be in a peaceful state. 

The first night, was the hardest. The night in which she woke up scared, crying, warning him to stay away from her in the middle of her confusion and hysteria. Until she finally realized it was just a nightmare, and that she was safe, and that there was no trace of Gregor Clean on earth anymore. 

Despite that particular night, despite her recent wounds, despite the damage and the loss that such a wicked scheme had caused, and most of all, despite how appealing vengeance seemed, specially with the power he held in his hands, he decided he would not let his mind be clouded like that. The Lord of Casterly Rock would face a terrible punishment, because he deserved it. 

“I wonder if what I’m thinking is correct” Rhaella’s ringing voice brought him back to where he was standing, and his mind settled upon the matter once again. 

Rhaegar directed his attention to his mother then. “You know as well as I do, mother, that all he truly wants is power. He had it, while being Lord Hand, years ago. He lost it then. And the only reason I can think of, for him wanting to get rid of Lyanna, is to put his daughter on the throne. A dead body would never be able to tell the real story, who her murder was. He would’ve made us believe that one of my father’s men killed her under his orders, perhaps. And after that, knowing that the position of Hand of The King was Jon’s, he would’ve offered his daughter’s hand in marriage”

Rhaella’s features contorted in disgust. She knew as well as he did, that such a theory was closer to the truth than any defense the Lannister Lord could make up after.  

“I still remember the hate in his eyes when your father rejected his offering” his mother remembered, almost bitterly, her gaze lost somewhere in the corner of the room “Cersei Lannister was the fairest maiden in all the Seven Kingdoms, from a wealthy House. An excellent match, she was. But your father” Rhaella smiled sourly “He was afraid of Lord Tywin. He was also jealous of him. Out of loathe towards Lord Tywin, he refused to betroth you to Cersei Lannister.”

Rhaegar frowned. He vaguely remembered too. Not anything in particular, but the rumors. The rumors of his supposed future betrothal to the beautiful daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock. 

“I can still remember your father’s words. Remarkably insulting, they were” Rhaella looked at her son then, and next, repeated the exact words Aerys had once said “ _You are my most able servant, Tywin. But a man does not marry his heir to his servant’s daughter_. Tywin could never forget, nor forgive such an insult. I suppose that, not even after your father’s death, he will be able to fulfill his ambition”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She felt the pressure building around her waist, tight and constricting, pressing her swollen breasts and leaving her, if only for a moment, breathless. 

“Is that alright, Your Grace?” 

Lyanna nodded slightly, just enough for her gesture to be noticed by her handmaiden in the mirror, who only seconds later started knotting the laces of the bodice with a concentrated stare. 

“The jeweler sent many pieces for you today, my Queen. Would you like to see them? He says they are _exquisite_ ” 

And they probably were, just like everything the man sent to the Red Keep. But Lyanna denied with her head, not at all seduced by the idea of gold and precious stones to adorn her. Not even covered in gold she would be able to erase the scars life had decided to give her. 

“My Queen.” her handmaiden asked for her attention once again, her new title still sounded strange and foreign to her. It took her a few moments to realize she was talking to her “The King instructed me to see if you wanted to ride, perhaps. I could accompany you” 

Lyanna withheld a sigh. Rhaegar. The poor man had tried to cheer her up in the past few days, in every possible manner. She knew as well as everyone else, that he was spending more time than he should around her, if only to make sure she wasn’t falling apart. 

Lyanna knew of his new duties. He was King now, and what a great King he would be. If only he didn’t feel like he had to be tied to her the entire day, concerned, and treating her as if she was made of glass. 

She was trying to get better. Really trying. The last thing she wanted, was for him to be neglectful of his duties as King because of her. However… She wished she could have him close to her all day. His presence gave her the peace she could not reach even in her own dreams. 

But Lyanna knew better than to make herself so dependent on him. And it was taking every bit of her strength to hold herself together, not to drown in a pool of her own tears at the sudden waves of memories that sometimes attacked her. 

It would be no good. 

Seeing her reflection on the looking glass, she traced a finger across the lilac bruise on a side of her face. It was fading, slowly. But it was a bitter reminder that contrasted strongly against the white of her skin and the greyish tone of her eyes. 

Looking through the mirror, the young handmaiden at her back seemed to notice the motion, her face falling for only a second. “We can cover that with white powders, Your Grace” she offered kindly. 

Lyanna nodded. 

Ladies in court were constantly covered by those powders, presuming a beautiful skin, with rosy cheeks and red lips. They did it to increase their beauty. She decided to do it because she was tired of the pitiful looks people would throw her way.  

In just minutes, the young handmaiden turned her bruised skin into unsheltered porcelain once again, the lilac reminder barely even staining the pale tone of her skin. If only she could do the same to the memories, to make them go away as easily. 

And as she looked at her image in the looking glass, a thought crossed her mind.

“I would like to” she hesitated, her voice drowning in the silence for a few seconds, gathering courage “I think I would like to visit Lady Ashara” 

The handmaiden put the comb aside then, nodding at her mistress’ wishes. 

She followed her around, Rhaegar’s orders, doubtlessly. Of course she could simply ask to be left alone, but the truth was… She didn’t know if she _wanted_ to be alone. 

Striding through the hallways, gaining the looks of the workers that were everywhere, repairing the damages done during the taking of the Red Keep, she tried not to think about _that_ night again, even if every stone in that place reminded her of it. 

Of course, the sight was much more different back then, and she wasn’t exactly in the same place she was that night. Maegor’s Holdfast, or at least a part of it, had been almost eaten by the flames. She hadn’t been there ever since, but she heard that the place was a mess, charred ruins of what once was magnificence. She was sure the workers working on it would leave it as is nothing ever happened. But they could never erase the horror. 

She found herself then looking hopelessly as a pair of wooden doors. Ashara’s bedchamber. The place would be soon emptied, she heard that Ashara was being sent back to Starfall, after all. Her brother’s suggestion. 

But what did Ashara have to say? What was in her mind? Pain, surely. But… 

_Does she blame me? I know I do._

But nobody would be able to tell. 

Ashara had locked herself up in her chambers days ago. Ever since she found out about Sarella’s death. The thought pinched her already broken heart then, the pain stretching across her chest once again. 

She had only seen her once ever since. She didn’t say a word. Not to her, not to anyone. 

Nobody had seen Ashara in the last days, not even ghosting the hallways. Some said she went mad with grief, that she would not let anyone hold her only remaining child, that she barely even ate, that for her lack of words during the day, she spent the nights crying and sobbing. 

Her own nights had been a nightmare after another. She could not even begin to imagine Ashara’s. 

Inflating her lungs, and holding her breath after, trying to gather the courage she needed, she finally knocked on the door, the hollow sound making an echo. 

“Ashara. It’s me” when she heard steps on the other side of the doors, her heart raced in her chest. 

Fear started growing, wondering about Ashara’s state. If she was no longer welcome there, she would understand. She could barely even hold the thought of that night, blaming herself despite every sweet word Rhaegar, or Rhaella kept using in order to make her feel better. 

When one of the doors opened, a servant girl received her with wide eyes and a courtesy. “Your Grace” 

Hesitantly, Lyanna stepped in. 

The brightness inside was almost blinding, for every window was wide open. 

In the middle of the room, she could distinguish Ashara’s silhouette, sitting on the edge of her bed, her back turned on her. Next to her, a small crib rested, not a single sound coming from Elaena. 

Lyanna, for a moment, felt herself paralyzed in her spot. “Ashara” she called softly. But she got no answer, not even a reaction. 

She decided to take a few steps more, approaching her slowly. 

The woman’s face only showed her how much pain she had been through. Swollen eyes were looking straight into the horizon, her olive skin, once glowing, now looked pale in comparison to the old days, and the expression wilting her face was one she would never forget. 

And there she was, pretty while hiding the bruise that marked her face, not wanting to deal with ‘pitiful looks’, while Ashara… Ashara was too submerged into her own pain to even notice the ones around her. She wanted to slap herself. 

Lyanna did not know what to say, and the lack of reaction from the woman only made it all even less encouraging. 

She wanted to cry, she wanted to just hug her, and if she wanted to scream or to curse her, it was fine. She deserved it. 

“Ashara…” she tried once more, yet, there was no response, but a quick glance in her direction. An empty glance that sent chills to her spine.  

“She won’t speak. To anyone” 

Lyanna turned on her heels, the unmistakable voice of Arthur Dayne intruding inside the room. But he was only standing in the doorframe, his violet eyes fixed on his sister. 

Arthur understood the pain the loss had caused, just like she did. He was in the very same position, she supposed. Except for the fact that the beautiful, little Sarella didn’t die on his watch, didn’t die next to him, _because_ of him. 

Feeling a burning sensation in her eyes, Lyanna decided to step outside. 

Arthur’s gaze was just as gloomy as she suspected hers was, the sharp features of the knight clenching together in a hard, pained expression. It was hard for him too. 

“I’m sorry” she murmured with a broken voice. “I’m sorry I couldn't save her”

Arthur then looked down at her, his eyes widening slightly, his expression hardening. “Do not say such things” he pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking again “It is not you the one to blame. You tried, Your Grace. But I should’ve been the one there, not you” 

His words made sense, but yet, Lyanna could not blame him. It was not his fault, she was sure of it. And still, she felt so weak and useless.

“She’s leaving” was all she found herself able to say. 

Arthur nodded. “To Starfall. Being here is not good for her. Not now”

“When?” Lyanna looked down. 

“In a fortnight”

Arthur’s response seemed to have struck her strongly, for her limbs suddenly felt weak, and she had to hold herself against a wall not to fall. 

Her head was spinning, and she felt the blood abandoning her face in just a fraction of second.

She thought she heard Arthur's voice asking if she felt well, but the dizziness was too much to bear. Soon enough, she felt a liquid going up her throat, and out of her. 

The next thing she felt, were Arthur’s arms carrying her, her limbs still weak. “Call a maester!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ned read the letter with growing hour in his eyes. 

It was a letter from King’s Landing, from the King himself. The _new_ King. 

His heart panicked for a moment when he read about the circumstances surrounding his beloved sister, Lyanna. Thank the Gods the King decided to write the letter for him, and not for his father. He must have been aware of his father’s condition, of the delicacy of his heart. 

If his father read the letter, he would doubtlessly suffer from another attack. 

Even if, in the end, her sister was found without any physical damage, once of his nieces did not run with the same luck. 

His heart was being squeezed slowly, or at least so he thought when he read the carefully written lines in cursive letters. Sarella was dead. 

She was but a babe, and they killed her. What kind of a monster did such a thing? 

“Dear Gods, Ned. Is everything alright? You’re frightening me with such a face, husband” Catelyn spoke, yet, he could not bring himself to react. “Ned?” she insisted.

Eddard put the letter upon the desk, and his head was already trying to figure out a way of telling his father, without killing him in the process. 

“It’s from King’s Landing. One of Brandon’s daughter… One of the babes died” 

One of Catelyn’s hand went to her middle protectively, while the other one covered her mouth. 

“I have to make preparations. We must go to King’s Landing”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a while. Sorry.


	49. Now You Know

“You and I both know why you are here now, Ser Jaime” Rhaella Targaryen invited the young knight to take a seat in front of her. His emerald green eyes widened for only a fraction of second, acknowledgement enlightening his features, as if the boy had been a stranger to the notion until that moment. 

“My son, some of his most loyal men, you and me. We are the only ones who have the knowledge of what truly happened there.” The Lannister boy remained quiet, yet his eyes could very well speak volumes at that moment. “But now that your father will face a trial for treason…”

“I will be judged too” Jaime Lannister said, a tone so neutral, so dead, one could think the boy was talking about a trivial matter only worthy of boredom, and not how his head could end up removed from his body. Not to say his father’s.

Rhaella gave the boy a look.

He was young. New to knighthood, trapped in a position he never asked for. All because Aerys wanted to piss his father off, by taking his heir away from him. If only Aerys would’ve known. 

“No. You shall not” Rhaella concluded, once again, gaining the boy’s surprise as a price “You saved me, and my daughter that day, Ser Jaime. You saved the entire city from being consumed by fire. Why do you think you’re not locked up in a cell?” 

Her son, the King, he heard the story. From her own lips, not less. 

“However… Your father will have to respond for his crimes. And I want to believe you had no part in his scheme”

The boy in front of her gulped once and licked his lips. Ah, he was aware then, of the fate that awaited for his father, merciless and well deserved too. The Lannister boy seemed too much of a noble nature, his youth being a decisive factor for that spark, surely. “I had no part in it, Your Grace” 

“I could hardly believe that the person who saved us from such a terrible fate, would be willing to participate in such a wicked scheme. I know he _is_ your father, Ser Jaime… But you will be asked to testify. I only want to prevent you” It was the least she could do for the one person that saved her family. “You saved my daughter’s life, and mine, just days ago. My son is aware of that, and he will personally speak to you about it.”

“Thank you, Your Grace” Jaime Lannister said. However, there was something else, she could see. “Your Grace” 

“Ser?”

“Could I make a petition?” Rhaella wondered what that petition could be. She nodded, allowing the knight to continue. “When he is brought here… May I speak with him?”

“That, Ser Jaime, is something you should ask the King.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What’s wrong?” Rhaegar almost barked when he stepped into the stance, concern evident in his voice, his long strides proof of his impatience. “Lyanna?” he insisted after just a few seconds, his tall figure approaching the bed in which she was then sitting.

She wanted to speak, to tell him, but the new was so fresh, and had struck her like a thunder. Something so good in the middle of so much darkness, it was just unreal. 

His exasperated gaze went to the maester then, and Lyanna knew she was the one who should tell him. After all, he would be the one that would share such a happiness with her, he was the only one that could possibly understand. 

“I am with child” her voice rang across the stance, the words tasted sweet on her tongue, and absentmindedly, one of her hands rested on her belly. 

One could look at Rhaegar for hours, and not be able to tell what he was going through his head. Most of the time, at least. But on some rare occasions, one could tell exactly what he was thinking. 

That, had been one of those moments. When confusion overflowed him for a few moments, only to be surpassed by joy. 

He kissed the top of her head, kneeling with one knee in front of her after. “Thank you” he said, as her hands cupped his face softly. 

“Are you happy now?” Lyanna smiled weakly. Was he? Because she knew she was, even in the middle of every disgrace, in the middle of the grim aftermath that made days sour and nights sleepless. 

A galant smile on his handsome face gave his answer away, before he could even pronounce another word. And Gods, how good it felt. “You always make me happy” he said, before placing a feather like kiss on her the back of her hand. 

Against her will, she felt the tears burning her eyes. Not because of some sad notion that had suddenly invaded her mind, but for a completely different reason. She just could not believe how lucky she was, even in the middle of all that misery. Her child, _their_ child, could’ve died on _that_ night. 

“Why are you crying now? Pray tell me” he frowned, helping himself to sit next to her. 

“I’m not sad” clarifying his suspects, she wiped a tear, feeling suddenly stupid. Her state had left her sensitive, vulnerable, much to her annoyance. 

Not being able to control her own emotions, well, it was frustrating. But it was such a small price to pay for the luck that the Gods had decided to give her. “I’m just happy that our child didn’t die on that night. I can’t help it, forgive me” 

He was tense then, she could see. But soon enough, his shoulders fell to their natural position, and his face relaxed once again. “I don’t want you to think of it anymore. You don’t deserve it. Please, stop.” begging eyes looked down at her. 

She would never forget. But she could move on. And for the sake of her, and for the sake of her child, she would. 

“I’ll be fine. I promise”

Rhaegar seemed pleased with her answer, at least. But she had no time to focus on that. A soldier, the one that was at her door, announced Jon Connington there.   

“Jon?” Rhaegar asked. 

The redheaded man made act of appearance, making small reverences towards them. “Your Grace. I apologize for the intrusion. But I received a raven. Tywin Lannister has been arrested, he’s being brought back to the city.”

Only then, Lyanna realized how oblivious she had been to the world around her. It wasn’t like Rhaegar, or any other, for that prospect, went to her with the post war’s troubles. In the eye of everyone, she shouldn’t be burdened with such things, because after all _Poor Queen Lyanna._

“Tywin Lannister? What is happening?” she scowled down, dragging her sight from Jon Connington, to Rhaegar. 

Her husband shared one last long look with Jon, before going back to her. “He’s going to face a trial. For treason. Gregor Clegane, he was the man that attacked you. He was under his commands”

Her mouth and throat felt suddenly dry. She had heard that name before, the name of the man that killed her niece, and tried to rape her, and kill her. But she hadn’t heard anything else, since everyone around her seemed to be walking on egg shells whenever the subject was brought. _If_ it was ever brought. Gathering the courage, she opened her mouth once again “Does that mean…” Lyanna dragged the words. 

Was Tywin Lannister behind those horrible acts? Was truly such a ‘respectable’ Lord capable of that? And most importantly, why? 

Rhaegar nodded. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Send him to the black cells” in part, he felt satisfied that Tywin Lannister’s apprehension happened so fast. Of course, it was a good thing that they were informed of his earlier attempt of escape. 

And now, Lord Lannister was not only going to be on trial for treason, for trying to murder the Queen. But also, for trying to murder his unborn child. And for the Gods, he could not wait for that damned trial to begin, to see into the man’s eyes himself, to see if he was going to be brave enough to confess, or if he was going to die as a coward.

Of course, there was still the possibility of his innocence. A little possibility, but it was still there. However, they would only know after they caught the informant. And there was people working on it already.

“Tywin Lannister brought to court as a prisoner. Who would’ve thought such a day would come” Jon said, his reddish eyebrows rising up high in his forehead. 

“His trial will be taking place in a few more days. Until then, he remains there, Jon” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” the man agreed. But he had something of his own to say. “Your Grace… Have you thought about the trial? How are we going to prove that he was scheming against the Queen? He could simply say that Gregor Clegane, a known blood-thirsty savage, simply decided to attack the Queen.”

Rhaegar grinned. Of course he had already thought about it. It would be the obvious defense. But the trial would take place in a  few days for that reason.

Varys asked him a few days to find out who the informant was. In those days, that person would be more careful than ever, they supposed. But there was no secret the spider could not find. 

“You shall see, Jon. Remember we probably have an informant working for Tywin Lannister in the Red Keep. If we find that person, the pieces will fall in place”

“Unless Your Grace knows who that man or woman is, I don’t see how we are going to know who he or she is”

“The spider”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon in the next chapter.


	50. Return

The wary looks people threw in her direction, she could easily return them. She even enjoyed it, that sensation, when she knew she could still carry herself above those who threw dirty looks on her. The whispers, she did not care for them either. She was a Lannister, and all of them, were nothing but insects waiting to be smashed. Insolent low borns. That they were. 

She was meant to be their Queen, and if it wasn’t for the ineptitude of her father’s bannerman, she would’ve be walking around the Red Keep as it’s owner, and not as the daughter of a ‘traitor’ in the eyes of the scum. 

Yet, Cersei did not mind, because everything would be solved. Her father always solved everything. And when he did, they would be sorry for their insolence. 

Accommodating her beautiful blonde curls on a side, and stretching the wine colored skirts with her delicate hands, she gave the man guarding the door a look before speaking “I’m here to see the King” 

The man in the golden armor gave her a dry look in return, his blue eyes giving nothing away. “I’m afraid His Grace is currently busy with other matters that require his attention, my lady. But he will surely call for your presence when he thinks it wise”

Did that man go daft? Did he not know who she was? Why couldn’t Jaime be the one guarding the damned place? And in any case, what was there that was more important than the matter she came to discuss? “Ser, I believe you are mistaking me for someone else” she did not mean it, of course. Who could mistake her for someone else? It was rather a warning.

The man, if only slightly, narrowed his eyes, something she barely even caught. “Are you not Cersei Lannister, my lady?” apparently not a bit impressed by the mention of her name, he offered.  The man did not mean it, but his acknowledgement felt like an insult in such a situation. 

“Then you must know what urgent matters I have to discuss with the King” 

The man in front of her gave her a look she did not like. One of pity. It was as if she could already read his simple mind, _the poor traitor’s daughter._ What a plague. As if she was one to deserve the pity of others. She’d be the one pitying them when her father was released. He’d show them, and she would follow. “I beg your pardon, my lady. But I’m only following orders” 

Cersei felt a warm sensation dusting her cheeks pink. And she was not sure if it was out of embarrassment, or frustration. Perhaps both. 

Having her wishes denied was not her custom. 

She needed to see her father, but in order to do that, she had to see the King first and get his permission. However, the task proved to be rather difficult, even for someone with her position, when the man locked himself up in a solar, with a brainless guard at his door. 

Once again, she cursed Gregor Clegane’s ineptitude. 

How difficult could it be to get rid of one thin girl like Lyanna Stark? The man certainly deserved his fate: to have his head rotting on the wall of the Red Keep. What a useless, big bastard he was. If it wasn’t for him and his huge incompetence, she would be taking a walk around the gardens with the King, ready to be married in a short time. And oh, how much longer would she have to wait now for it to happen. 

Grabbing a fistful of her skirt, with what was left of her wounded dignity, she walked away gracefully, her beautiful face proud, and her curls bouncing with her pace. 

The King would eventually call for her, he had to. He knew who she was, and he had proved to be a most chivalrous man in the past. And she could not say that he did not admire her beauty back then, for she knew he was a man of taste. 

In her way out, at the distance, she distinguished two individuals. The first one, a red headed man she already knew. Jon Connington, a man just too dull and grey to pay much attention to, with some whispered odd tendencies towards other men. Suppositions, of course, but they had to come from somewhere, as, for example, his lack of a wife or betrothed, and his lack of interest in finding one.

The other person, she loathed with the intensity of the seven hells. Dressed in dark blue, and carrying herself as if she truly deserved the place in which she was, Lyanna Stark walked besides Jon Connington with a serious semblance in her face, in her eyes, a flash of recognition after they landed on her. There was something uneasy sparkling in them.

They would cross paths, and the idea of bowing down before her made her ankles hurt already. Since when did the lion bowed down to a sheep? However, she would have to bit her hatred, and try to pry some information out of Jon Connington. Perhaps the man could help her to get to Rhaegar a little bit faster. 

“My lady” the man greeted, taking his pace to a halt, with ‘The Queen’ by his side. 

“Your Grace” Cersei forcefully curved her lips in the most cynical smile she could produce, one that Lyanna Stark did not even bother returning. “Lord Hand” 

“You came earlier than expected” the man highlighted, surprise painted all over his face. His blue eyes went to the hallway behind her, as if toying with some suppositions in his mind. Of course he knew the reason why she was there. 

“I made some arrangements to come to the capital as soon as I could, my lord. I need to be by my father’s side at such a time. I shall see him clear this mess created by ill intentioned people. We Lannisters always had many enemies” Cersei eloquently offered.

“And why would that be, my lady?” Lyanna Stark had finally opened her mouth, if only to create tension. 

“Pardon me, Your Grace?”

“Why is it that the Lannisters have so many enemies, I wonder” the faked wondering expression on Lyanna Stark’s face told her where the woman was going. 

Cersei gracefully smiled, condescending upon the northerner. “Envy, of course, Your Grace. People often feel threatened by other’s good fortune. Don’t you think?” 

Lyanna smiled. There was something swirling impatiently in the greyish tone of her eyes, some sort of acknowledgement that was starting to irritate her. “I shall know that of what you speak of. People who’s always trying to take what is yours by right, no matter what. If you ask me, the worst kind of people there is.” Cersei felt her own smile fading slowly at the woman’s words, but quickly put it back on her face. She would not let her get away with it. However, Lyanna continued. “Although, one could even eventually pity them. A person must be a so very unhappy soul in order to do vile things just to take what’s already taken. A sad curse, to want what you can’t have”

Had Cersei not known any better, she would think the Queen knew how much she despised her. Never before in her entire life had she wanted to slap someone so badly. Hers by right? The crown, the King? Only in her dreams. Those were not hers by right, but hers thanks to Aerys Targaryen’s madness. Only a mad man would overlook someone like her, with her status, beauty and wealth, and marry his son to a Stark girl. If there was something Cersei envied from Lyanna Stark, was her luck, she bitterly admitted in the silence of her mind.

She was undeserving of being called ‘Queen’. Even under the refined garments and with the crown on her head, she could see the wild mannered northerner she truly was. She certainly did not deserve the King either. The most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms, tied to _her_. Now _that_ was a thing to pity. 

“Thankfully, Your Grace, I have never felt such a wicked thing like envy, for I’ve been blessed by the Gods with the best of fortunes” The best of fortunes she would have if she ever found the so called ‘Queen’ in a dark corner and could strangle her without witnesses. “Lord Connington… Do you think I could see my father?”

The man in front of her sucked a small amount of air before speaking. “Your father is not allowed to receive visits at the time, my lady. Forgive me.”

Cersei resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the man. “But I will take your request to the King, we were on our way to his solar right now” 

Was _that_ the ‘urgent matter’ the King had to attend? 

“If you would be so kind, Lord Hand. I cannot wait for the real outlaw to be caught and taken to justice. Such a person deserves a severe punishment” she was playing her part wonderfully, she was aware of it. No one would ever suspect such a sweet creature like her. And no one was supposed to suspect on her respectful father either. But he would be set free, she was absolutely sure of it. He was Tywin Lannister after all, and there was nothing his gold could not buy. Not even his innocence. 

The Lord Hand took a hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing it for a moment, his features showing a sceptic facade for an instant. “That is what we all want, my lady. And the punishment will surely be the most severe of all…” 

In that moment, Lyanna Stark took a step forward, her bold stare straight into hers. “It will be… Since they did not only try to kill me, but also the child I’m carrying”

So the little harlot was with child. For all she cared, she and her little beast could go to take a walk around the Seven Hells. With the babe, things got more complicated. But there was nothing a little moon tea could not solve. Cersei smiled, and proceeded to congratulate the Queen. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Streams of sunlight crossed the chambers vividly, however, Elaena’s crib was well protected against the shiny intruders in a corner. Her small girl was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the sorrow around her. 

She was better. She could already stop crying. She could eat too, not because she wanted to, but because she needed to remain strong for her little daughter. She was so alone in the world, her little one, she could not even bear the idea of her, defenseless without a mother. If it wasn’t for her… 

Ashara recalled the thoughts crossing her mind. She visualized her body falling from her balcony, every bone in her body crushing against the rocky shores that outlined the Red Keep. She thought about the possibility at some point. But she would never be so cruel to her remaining child, and she certainly didn’t want to say good bye to her to. However, her heart was still divided. A part of it was there, with her precious Elaena. The other one, was beyond their world, with Sarella. And it was the most painful thing she had ever felt. 

As she contemplated the ocean, her hands gripped the edges of the stone balcony, as if they were holding on to life itself. And perhaps, she was. After all, she was half dead already. 

The thoughts of ‘what if’ that had kept her awake for several nights were finally fading, for there was nothing she could do to bring the dead back to life. But for the Gods, she would gladly give her soul to the Stranger itself if it would mean her daughter would still be alive. It was her fault after all…

What kind of mother would’ve left her child behind, or trust others with her child?

The creaking sound of a door opening made her turn around, not because she cared who the intruder was, but because she was afraid someone had perturbed her little one’s peaceful sleep. 

While she guarded Elaena’s dream, a young servant girl entered the chamber with a hurried pace, hands grabbing the fabric of her skirt in order to walk faster, her features denoting urgency. “My lady…” the young girl said between breaths, her reddened cheeks giving her hurry away “My lady, you must come with me”

Ashara lifted her sight from her daughter, to the young girl. What was out there for her to make her leave that place? She did not want to see anything or anyone. Not yet. 

However, the girl kept speaking. 

“Is your brother. The Queen’s brother appeared at the Keep’s gates, and now your brother is fighting him.”

Her blood froze. Brandon. Did he still exist? She hadn’t thought about him in what seemed forever. And she did not know what to feel. In fact, she felt nothing at all. Was that just the shock of the moment? Because her head was spinning, and she could not tell wether she was having a strange dream, or if it was reality. 

Wether it was true or false, she had to see it with her own eyes. “Stay with her” she asked of the young servant, who only nodded. 

Before the incredulous eyes of many, Ashara hurried to the place in which her brother was supposedly fighting Brandon. And at some distance, she could already hear the sounds of a proper fight. 

When she arrived, some of the ladies witnessing the scene, looked at her in disbelief. 

There, in the middle of the yard, two men were on the floor, punching each other with bloody fists, like two common tavern-dwellers too drunk to even mind the stares. The one on top was Arthur, that much she was able to distinguish even with the blood and mud covering his face. 

“Arthur!” she shouted mindlessly, both her hands pressing against her chest. 

At the sound of her voice, his brother stopped, only to lift his gaze to her. Under him, Brandon moved his head in order to watch too. 

It was him. It was really him. His hair was longer, his beard too. But she would recognize those grey eyes anywhere, with any disguise. For a moment, it seemed as if time has stopped, and she was once again enjoying the sun in the gardens with the princess’ gallant brother, sharing shameless gazes with him. 

However, her brother soon impacted his fist against Brandon Stark’s face once again, and the man returned it to Arthur. It was madness. 

“Stop!” she stepped forward “Stop, you halfwits!” 

But it was as if trying to reason with two rabid dogs. Why? She was not sure. It probably had something to do with Arthur trying to ‘defend her honor’ in the eyes of the others. She could not care less for her honor in the eyes of the others.

Seeing that her orders did not have any effect on the two, she put herself in the middle, pushing Arthur’s shoulder with one of her small hands, momentarily stopping the fight.

“Don’t, Ashara. Don’t. He deserves it” Arthur barked. Recognizing the ire in the eyes of her brother, she wondered why was it that he had not already drawn Dawn. But it was better not to give him ideas. 

“Ashara. I didn’t know” she heard Bradon’s voice, but she was still looking at Arthur, eyes warning him not to go at it again. 

The northerner’s words only seemed to anger Arthur the more. “And did you not know what you were doing when you-“

“Arthur!” Ashara warned him. He was about to open his mouth to reveal her personal life to pretty much the entirety of Court. _Halfwits. That’s what these two are._

“Ashara… Please”

Only then, did she turn back to look at him. Pleading grey eyes were looking at her, sorrow tainted. 

He knew. Had he heard? The stories certainly spread like wildfire among the Seven Kingdoms. About the new King, about the Mad King dying, about a huge soldier who tried to rape the Princess and killed her daughter. 

It was all returning, the angst constricting her chest, and the tears burning her eyes. 

And there he was, oblivious to her pain, to her loss, only there in flesh and bone because of some barbaric stories he heard. It was her loss, only hers. He had not been a father to her children. Arthur had been more of a father to them than him. And he was there, for what, exactly, she did not know. 

Feeling as if she could just crumble any minute, she turned and decided to leave. What was there to watch or hear anyway? Nothing that really mattered. But when she did, he called her once again, his insistent nature shining through. “Ashara. Wait” 

“What do you want?!” she turned to face him, rabid, hot tears threatening to soak her face. She was aware of the people around them, of the many curious eyes and ears that were eagerly expecting to see how that mess would develop. But she could not care less, for she had finally exploded. “Tell me. Why did you come back? Because if you wanted to meet your daughters, you arrived too late. One of them is gone! Killed while you were what? Drinking? Whoring? So spare me your pity, Brandon, and go back to your life”

Her words were meant to be sharp and unforgiving as the blades of knives were. She hadn’t thought about Brandon in such a long time. She never hated him, she never blamed him for leaving her either, she never held any resentment. She and him, they both knew what their relationship was. It was supposed to be meaningless. In the end, what was left of it, was what gave her life meaning. 

But the moment in which he re-appeared, after hearing the terrible stories… She was not mad at him because he pitied her. Not truly. 

She was angry, angrier than ever, because of all of the sudden, the most unlikely of ideas went through her head, and once again, she ended up torturing herself with impossible ideas. 

What would’ve happened if he was there back then? Would her daughter be dead? 

A childish thing, to think of the roads not taken and imagine what would’ve been like _if only_ … But there she was, wondering once again what would’ve happened that night if some things changed. 

“I didn’t know. How could I know? When I found out, it was only because the news of the death of the Mad King reached Essos. Along with it’s details…” 

And what use of it now? Ashara turned, ready to leave. She heard enough, and she did not want to keep listening. 

However, she heard his steps behind her. “I want to meet her” 

It had to happen, at some point. But it hurt that it had to be that way. 

“Ashara” Arthur warned behind her, the protectiveness of his tone quite evident. 

“He _is_ her father, Arthur.” she simply stated, her brother’s discontent did not impress her a bit. “Follow me then” this time, she directed her words to Brandon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “I don’t like that woman. Not a bit, Rhaegar” Lyanna almost grunted while pacing from one spot of the stance to another, plucking a sudden chuckle out of her husband. The outcome only annoyed her, but him, either oblivious to her annoyance, or perhaps simply not caring enough, decided to keep the grin, against her deathly stare. “I’m serious” 

The unmoving amusement in his features was starting to irk her. But at least, it denoted that his humor was lighter than the previous days. The odd thing was, it was happening to her too. It was as if she was gradually recovering herself. Until, of course, that morning in which she was unlucky enough to cross paths with Cersei Lannister. That venomous snake.

“I know you are being serious” he grinned from his seat, his purple eyes on her, while his fingers toyed with the ring he always wore. “I just don’t know what you want me to do with her. It is expected of Lady Cersei to come to Court in such a situation” even with the grin on his face, she perceived that the situation to which he was referring to, did not exactly bring joy. However, he did not let that ruin his mood.

It was expected of her, of course. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try something. And perhaps she was being paranoid, perhaps, it was the damage done by others that had her thus, but Lyanna felt chills in her spine whenever she thought of that woman wandering around freely. Couldn’t he lock her up in the cells too? Gods, if she were the one with the power to do such a thing, she would.

“ _Lady Cersei_ ” she repeated with venom, and a cynical tone, the name tasting sour on her tongue. 

And Gods, she knew what that woman wanted. Her words were still fresh in her mind, she could still vividly remember what she saw too. It made her nauseous. Or perhaps, that was the babe. But still, the thought repulsed her. Speaking about wanting another man, while seducing her own brother. Lyanna scowled, crossing her arms upon her chest. “You talk as if she’s just an innocent little dove” 

Seeing her discontent, Rhaegar stood up from his seat, the ring with which his fingers were toying earlier, was already forgotten on the table, and the ruby incrusted in it caught a glimpse of light coming from the window. “And what harm could she do?” he asked as he put his hands on her hips. 

“She wants you” Lyanna assured him, taking the risk of gaining yet another incredulous laughter from him. And of course, he did not disappoint. His grin only widened, amusement glinting mockingly in his eyes. “You don’t believe me” Lyanna’s scowl deepened.

“His father wanted to put her on the throne. That doesn’t mean that _she_ wants _me_ ” 

For such a smart man, he could be naive at certain moments. Most women in the Seven Kingdoms wanted him. And now he would tell her that the daughter of the most ambitious man of all, who was surely as ambitious as her father, with that unbearable sense of being above everyone else, did not want him? The young, handsome King? Indeed, he could be naive. He was a man after all. 

But then again, he did not hear what she heard, or see what she saw. _And he was a man_. Men were often fooled by a woman’s apparent vulnerability and sweetness. _Ugh_. 

Cersei Lannister was an expert at selling the image of a proper, sweet, perfect lady. Seven Hells, any more pretending in front of him and everyone who was ‘important’ in her eyes, and the woman would have a statue on the Sept beside the Mother. And if she wanted him, of course he would be the last person in the Seven Kingdoms to which she would show her true venomous nature to. 

Either he believed her little act, or he simply did not pay enough attention to the woman. The second option, she liked better.

“I overheard her. Once.” Lyanna remained with her arms crossed upon her chest, her glare stabbed in his face. At the revelation, he simply lifted an eyebrow, and tilted his head. 

“Oh?”

Lyanna sighed when he pulled her closer. “She was with her brother. She was saying all kind of terrible things about me, and how she wanted _you._ ” For a moment, Lyanna toyed with the possibility of telling him what happened between Cersei and her brother, Ser Jaime. How would he take it? His parents were siblings too, after all. It was a Targaryen tradition. Were it not for his lack of a sister near his age, he himself would’ve been married to his own sister. 

Yet, for some reason, people from the realm, including her, did not see their ‘tradition’ as a thing to look surprised at anymore. Perhaps it was the weight of history, after all, Targaryens did that for ages.  

But when it came to the other houses of the realm, like the Lannisters… Maybe it was the acceptance of a royal custom, a Targaryen custom. Or maybe it was just hypocrisy, agreeing with the royal family, even celebrating them whenever it happened, but rejecting and repudiating the same practice in other families. 

Rhaegar pulled her even closer then, ignoring her words and kissing her slowly, his tongue toying with her lower lip, and making her hold her breath. 

“You’re not listening” Lyanna complained when his lips kissed the corner of her mouth, and kept descending down her neck. “I’m telling you” she said with difficulty. If he was trying to make her shut up, his plan was working, for her throat had started to feel dry already. “She wants you. She discussed it with her brother before she…” she sucked a breath in when he bit her neck lightly, sending jolts all across her body “Before she seduced him” she had to congratulate herself, really, for being able to finish her sentence, maybe not with the dignity she imagined, but still. 

“Lyanna” he called near her ear, his voice hoarse. 

“What?” she bit her lip while feeling his hot breath against her skin, eyes closed, and her fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“I really don’t want to talk about Cersei Lannister now.” his hands gripped her hips tighter. “Well… I don’t really want to talk now” he said before kissing her neck again, and she let a moan go past her lips. She swore she could feel the damn smirk, truly. 

“You’re despicable” she almost choked “We’re at your solar, anyone could come in” Lyanna sighed when she felt his fingers already unknotting the laces on the back of her dress, her body was already feeling hotter when thinking of what was coming, a warm sensation pooling between her legs.

“Oh. Shall I stop then, my Queen?” his movements ceased, and he straightened himself, drawing away from her neck, looking at her with faked confusion. It felt like being splashed with cold water. 

He lit the fire, and now he expected to just leave her like that? “Don’t you dare” she cried as he loosened his grip on her hips. Gods, she felt as if she could just hit him. His response? Laughter. Of course. _Arse._

After cursing him a thousand times in her head, everything else around her faded when he finally decided to continue, and her dress pooled on the floor around her feet. His kisses went south, past her breasts and stomach, and when she closed her eyes and felt him _there_ , everything turned black, with some colorful spots exploding around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally made it. Sorry for the delay. But you know what? I think I write better when I take my time... So I won't try to rush the chapters anymore :P


	51. A Paid Debt

Her father had more white hairs than she could remember, and certain tiredness clung to his shoulders like she’d never seen before, making him look a little beyond his years. Consequences of his illness, doubtlessly, even if he tried to hide it. 

But even with that faint fragility that threatened him, his gaze upon his eldest son was no less severe than it was meant to be, every soul in the stance could perceive it. Brandon was tense.

Ned and his ever blushing wife arrived at King’s Landing, and when her father’s silhouette also descended the carriage behind them, her smile widened greatly.  

However, amongst hugs and greetings, Lyanna wondered if the timing was right. Her father was still ill, a heart condition no less, and Brandon was there too. If seeing his irresponsible, reckless son again was not upsetting, then Gods be good, her father was meant to mock his illness and perhaps even the Stranger.

But that, she was about to see…

“I’m so happy to see you unharmed, Lyanna. When I received that letter in Winterfell, Gods… I feared the worst” She could hear the concern behind his words, surely he was expecting to find her in a much worse state. The story of that night spread like wildfire across the realm, the story about the poor Queen Lyanna, who suffered terribly in the hands of Gregor Clegane trying to protect her niece. Or at least, that was what she heard. Remembering always made her feel sick. “But you are well, I see. And I’ve been told you are carrying” 

“I am” she could feel the heat going up her cheeks, for some unknown reason. Her father simply gave her a faint smile from his chair.  

“Well, it seems like you are all determined to make me a grandfather these days” her father’s eyes then drifted to Brandon.

Lyanna shared a look with Ned, one of wariness. 

“Where are Lady Dayne and my granddaughter, son?” 

“They are taking a walk on the gardens, father. Would you like to meet them?” Brandon offered. 

Knowing Ashara, she probably wanted Brandon to speak to their father first. And knowing Brandon, he probably wanted the same thing, but for completely different reasons. He didn’t know how he would react, none of them did. But Lyanna couldn’t help but to feel slightly surprised. She supposed that her father’s relief to see his son alive surpassed his anger. 

“Absolutely. Take me to them. And we’ll talk later” With a silent promise for a talk, Brandon nodded, taking them all to meet mother and child. 

Behind her father and Brandon, Lyanna, Ned and Lady Catelyn walked a little bit slower than them. “How is he, Ned?” Lyanna threw a glance in the direction of their father, her voice low, almost a whisper.

“When he found out about you… I was concerned he could fall ill once again. The news affected him, badly.” a small ache spread across her chest at the thought of her father falling ill once again because of her. “But his will to see you, _and Brandon,_ would not let him… Fall ill, that is” 

If only everything was a matter of will. But she knew better. And now that her father was there, she would make sure he rested properly before their journey back to Winterfell. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You are insane” Jaime’s disapproval mattered little to her, truly. 

Cersei grinned, as her brother gave her a disapproving look. Jaime had always been thus. 

The gesture seemed to make him snap, for his hand was soon after encircled around her arm, and not in a kind manner. “What do you think you’re doing? Let go. Now” she warned him, narrowing her eyes at the strength with which he held her, but her brother didn’t seem too impressed by her tone.

“Our father is in prison for scheming against the Crown, and I just happen to know my father rather well to believe the accusations might be true. And now you want to give moon tea to the Queen? Have you gone mad?” Jaime’s hushed words were severe, and his grip on her arm tight, tight enough to hurt. 

Still, she tried to push him away, but he didn't move an inch. “Let me do what that monstrous idiot couldn’t. Or at least half the task.” Some moon tea would not kill that savage. It would only kill the creature she was carrying, and perhaps leave her lying in bed for a few days. And if she gave her just the right amount, Lyanna Stark could even lose her ability to carry more children for the King. Cersei smiled again. “That way, this humiliation they made us suffer would’ve served for something, at last” 

Jaime grabbed her by the shoulders, ireful eyes meeting her willful ones. “Stop this. This is madness, Cersei. You lost. Father lost. And maybe if we are lucky, he will get out of King’s Landing with his head still upon his neck. He has his ways” he roared with a snarl upon his face.

“Exactly. That’s why I need to do this. You and I know he will buy everyone in court if he needs to. And about this little incident, nobody will know but Pycelle.”

Her brother did not look appeased, and if anything, he looked only more upset. “If anything happens to the Queen now, who do you think they will blame? Hmm? It’s already a miracle that they haven’t locked me up next to father for what I’ve done, and I have to thank Queen Rhaella for that. We won’t be so lucky if something else happens to Rhaegar’s wife. And you _should_ consider yourself lucky right now”

“Don’t even mention that” She spat, contempt pouring upon her every word at the reminder. It all made her angrier, for things were upside down in that world. A hint of jealousy could be distinguished in Jaime’s eyes, and she knew that hers was easy to see too. But Jaime always knew she was made to be Queen, didn’t he?

“If something happens to her, you will not only make things worse for father, but also put _our_ lives in danger” 

Cersei held her breath, and while she hated to admit such a thing, her brother might be right. It was true that she was impulsive. Even as a child, she had always been. The ghost of Melara Heatherspoon sometimes reminded her of that trait, wandering around her head. Not that she cared much.  “Fine” she pursed her lips, and her brother’s hold on her loosened after a shared look of understanding. “I won’t do a thing. I might spread the rumor of her child being a bastard, the Mountain’s bastard, only for fun.” she toyed with the idea for a while, thinking that, in Court, everyone could believe such a thing. Specially since the babe would probably come out with her dark looks. “But after father’s released, I swear Jaime, I will-“

He took a few steps back, a hand rubbing his forehead in what could be easily translated in a gesture of annoyance. “You think he’s untouchable. Don’t you?” Jaime smiled bitterly, his eyes were almost mocking her, almost… Maybe if he weren’t his father too, they’d be completely mocking. He was expecting some kind of complain, she knew for the way he was looking at her. However, there was not a single forthcoming word after.  

Jaime released a sigh, denying with his head, as if she was just a child who had to be told. “Do you know why he won’t demand a trial by combat, sweet sister?” 

A trial by combat? Probably because he already had the necessary weapons to set himself free, probably because he already bought what he needed with Lannister gold. He didn’t need a trial by combat. Did he?. And if so, he would get the finest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. However, Cersei’s scowl deepened when she saw the expression carved on Jaime’s face. “The King’s champion would be Arthur Dayne. Does that name ring a bell?” He asked her, pushing his blond hair back “The Mountain is gone. Not that he had much of a chance against Arthur Dayne in my opinion”

“If it comes to a trial by combat… He’s got you”

Jaime’s light laughter sounded sour. “Putting aside the fact that it would be completely inappropriate for a Kingsguard to defend a man who’s being accused of treason against the Crown, I’m good, sweet sister. But what could a green boy do against the legendary Sword of the Morning? Father knows that.” 

True. Her brother was good. Better than most knights. But Arthur Dayne was not like most knights. Cersei gulped. Maybe things were not as simple as she thought. And the truth was, she was careless. She was so busy in her personal revenge against Lyanna Stark, that she forgot about it all. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see.

She simply trusted in her family’s wealth to solve it all, in her father’s wit, and in people’s prices. But Jaime was telling her otherwise. That maybe, all they truly had was that, and nothing more if that failed. Their wealth and the possibility of corrupt people to help them. Because they had no other choice. 

And for the first time in her life, Cersei felt scared, the whole world falling on her shoulders. What if their gold didn’t buy what they needed? What if their influences were not enough? No. It could not be. That could not happen to Tywin Lannister. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was sitting at the base of the throne, eyeing Rhaegar whenever she could. Sitting in his throne, her husband looked mighty. He looked like a King. However, the occasion was not exactly one that would bring her joy or pride.  

The atmosphere was heavy, and she was feeling nervous, her hands were sweaty. 

From his seat, her father gave her a look that said _‘Everything will be well, calm down, child’._ She could almost hear him _._ But how could she remain calmed? The whispering in the place was already making her feel dizzy, with all eyes upon her. And Gods, she would have to remember that awful night, and live it all over again. Ashara was there, in the crowd… It would be painful for her to hear. Why did she have to be there?

Standing near her, Ser Jaime stood straight as a spear in his golden armor, the young boy with a blank expression upon his face. What would that be like? To presence his own father’s trial, to watch him standing upon the thin line that divided life from death. She could feel some sympathy for him, after all, he was the one who killed the Mad King, the one who helped Rhaella.

She could also see Cersei Lannister. The lioness looked as proud as ever, in the colors of her house, and a smug expression upon her beautiful face. 

The sight of her made her wonder why’d she look so confident. Tywin Lannister was one step away from being beheaded. Perhaps she knew about some dirty trick the Lord of Casterly Rock had hidden under his sleeve. But then again, didn’t all Lannisters look smug?

However, her eyes drifted forward the moment she heard heavy steps in the room. 

With two guards, each on one side, Tywin Lannister stepped into the room, and stepped up the stand that was placed right in front of the King, hands chained, and a stern face. 

The man in front of them did not even give her a glance. 

“Tywin of the House Lannister” Rhaegar’s rich voice filled the place, the silence was so intense, she could swear everyone would hear even the fall of a needle to the ground. Lyanna held her breath for a moment. “You stand accused of assassination attempt against the Queen” Lyanna could feel the coldness in her husband’s voice, not a drop of sympathy in his tone. He truly believed the man to be behind it all, that much she could tell. “Did you plan to send Gregor Clegane, also known as ‘The Mountain’, after the Queen in the middle of the chaos produced by the events of that night?”

Tywin Lannister, with his hands chained, but his still proud eyes, gave Rhaegar a simple answer: “No” 

“Did you not give instructions to your men regarding the safety of those in the Red Keep, Lord Tywin?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The orders were clear: No member of the royal family was to be harmed, as you and I agreed.” 

“And why do you think Gregor Clegane went to Maegor’s Holdfast, after my wife, when the battle was nowhere near?” true. There was no battle near that night. Only the sound of swords clashing far away, and flames consuming everything in their way. Yet, that monster showed up there. 

“I could not know, Your Grace. The actions of that man are also a mystery to me”

Unimpressed with the answer given, Rhaegar waved his hand to Jon Connington briefly. “The crown may call it’s first witness” Jon Connington announced, and shortly after, focused his sight on her. “Queen Lyanna Targaryen” 

At the mention of her name, she froze. _Oh Gods._

Every hair in her body bristled at the thought. It would be the first time she would publicly speak about it. It would be the first time she would truly tell the story. 

As she walked towards the stand, she touched her belly, sickness growing within her. _Please, don’t baby. Not now._ She was practically begging, her hand clutched against her still flat stomach. 

From the throne, Rhaegar gave her a concerned gaze, one that was meant only for her. Was it so easy for him to read her? Or was she so transparent? She could not tell, but the deafening silence in the stance only increased her nervousness, the sound of her own steps on the marble and the one of her silks being dragged the only sound in the place. However, after she reached the spot, she simply nodded slightly at a concerned looking Rhaegar, and it seemed to calm him down.

After that brief and well veiled sign of approval, her husband spoke again. “My Queen. Would you please tell us what happened that night” 

Once again, she nodded, feeling slightly light-headed. For some reason, her tongue felt swollen, and her fingers could not remain still. It would be painful, she realized. And not only for her. “I was in the ship, with Prince Viserys, and my ladies, as you commanded” Gods, her voice was the one filling the room. “I noticed how distressed Lady Dayne was, for one of her daughters was still within the Red Keep at that time” Lyanna looked in her direction, and Ashara was right there. She was frowning, her eyes watery, and Lyanna searched for some kind of approval in her. Thank the Gods, Brandon was right next to her, holding her just in case. Did she truly want to hear that? “When we realized that Lady Dayne’s daughter, my niece, was still not on board, I decided to come back to the keep, and search for her myself. The Red Keep was burning. But I found her, and I took her with me.”

Her nails were digging painfully into the skin of her palms, as it all came to her mind. The fire, the cries, that _monster._ She was reviving those nightmares she had finally left behind, experience burning her once again. However, she gathered her strength once again. “When I was on my way to return to the ship, I saw _him._ ” Lyanna took a small moment for herself. It was still vivid in her mind. “This… This enormous man, he was standing in the hallway, and behind him, there were some men, all in Lannister colors.” At the mention of the name, she could swear she could feel Tywin Lannister’s stare stabbing her in the back, for the first time. “When he looked at us with those merciless eyes, I knew… I knew he was up to no good. So I took my niece with me, and ran, until I reached your chambers” 

Rhaegar’s attention was focused on her and only her, his hand turned into a fist under his nose. It was just as painful to him, she knew. After all, he was the one who found her, lying in a pool of blood.  “I hid. I locked the doors with the bar, and hid under the bed, with Sarella in my arms” she closed her eyes for a moment, they were burning. She could not cry, not yet. She had to finish her story. She was also feeling sick in the stomach, and she could only press a hand to it insistently, believing in the back of her mind that maybe that would calm her babe. “But he broke the bar when he pushed himself against the doors, and stepped inside. And then he…” her voice broke in that instant. Rhaegar flinched in his seat, the frown upon his features breaking through his neutrality mask. The people behind her gasped and whispered, and that was the kind of reactions her story kept plucking from them, but she continued. “And then he dragged me from under the bed. I held Sarella close to me, but he took her from me. He wanted to take me by force, I resisted… And Sarella was crying, she was crying so much. It bothered him, her cries” 

Somewhere in the back of the room, a drowned sob could be heard. Ashara. Lyanna pressed her lips tightly together, closing her eyes for a moment, if only to try and calm herself. When a single tear escaped, she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. 

“ _I just hate loud children,_ he said before he…” She put her hands against the wood of the stand, and held herself firmly there. 

Rhaegar was tense, extremely so, she could tell. The scowl, the way in which he pushed his hair back roughly. He looked like he could simply jump from his seat. Yet, with a soft tone, he addressed her. “If you can’t continue, please-“ 

“No.” she cleared her throat, gathering strength before speaking once again “After he killed her… He tried to force himself on me. And then I saw a dagger I took with me under the bed. I stabbed him, I stabbed him to death.” Holding tears back was getting more and more difficult. But she had to, and she did. “And then, I fell unconscious” 

She could’ve told the story in a much more detailed way, however, her thoughts were with Ashara, and sparing the mother of the child that died that night the painful details was the least she could do. Ashara didn’t need to hear them, she didn’t need to know how her small daughter’s skull was crushed against the floor in a merciless way. 

“My Queen, do you have aught else to say?” Rhaegar was looking at her, ignoring Jon Connington’s intent to speak. Just as she wanted to spare Ashara the pain, he wanted to spare her the suffering of re-telling any more details. 

“No” 

“You’re dismissed, my Queen” 

A glance towards Ashara’s direction, and it was enough for her heart to break. The woman was hiding her face against Brandon’s chest, who kept her safe in a tight embrace. At least now they had each other. At least now she had someone who shared her pain equally. 

“The crown calls Lord Varys” the Lord Hand’s voice announced as Lyanna sat in her place, wiping the small tears that gathered in her eyes.  

Varys, The Spider, approached with slow strides. 

The man took a few steps until he reached one of the stands, his hands were hidden into the long, spacious sleeves he sported, his powdered face looked like a mask hiding secrets. Perhaps, he was hiding them. “Your Grace” the man voiced in a silky tone, eyeing Lyanna from the corner of his eyes if only for a brief moment before his sight went back to Rhaegar.

“Lord Varys” Jon acknowledged with familiarity. “You may speak freely of what you know”

The eunuch grinned, baring his teeth if only for a moment to the Lord Hand after the last one gave him permission to speak. “As you all know, Lord Lannister used to serve as Hand of The King, during the reign of your father” the eunuch directed his words to Rhaegar. Everyone in the room seemed to remember. But Lyanna couldn't find memories of what she did not live. At the time, she was just a child, living in Winterfell with her feet deep in the snow and a dirty hem. “A magnificent job the lion did with the Court. Certainly, an alliance was expected of House Targaryen and House Lannister, for King Aerys and Lord Tywin had been childhood friends.” And then, she could see where that was going. Rhaegar mentioned it to her once, the ‘alliance’ Tywin Lannister wanted. “And as expected, Lord Tywin offered the hand of his daughter for you, to your father, Your Grace. It was a most advantageous alliance, that one. House Lannister would have a daughter as Queen, and House Targaryen would have the support of the lion. But King Aerys refused, and not in the kindest manner” 

Lyanna looked at the lioness. She looked positively angered, or at least uncomfortable. Her cheeks were painted red, and she could not say whether it was for the embarrassment of her hurt pride, or the angry rivers flowing within her for being reminded of the insult. Cersei Lannister flashed her green eyes at her then, and they widened when she found her staring back. What she found in them, she could not decipher. Contempt, perhaps. But then again, she could not care less for what that haughty woman thought of her. 

“Lord Tywin did not take the rejection kindly, Your Grace. He resigned to his charge as Hand of The King, and went back to Casterly Rock. Never set a foot in King’s Landing again”

“We all know that part of the story, Lord Varys” Jon Connington’s voice was clearly trying to hasten the eunuch’s testimony, impatience pouring through his every word. However, despite the man’s allegations about how everyone knew about what happened back then, Lyanna did not know all about that story. She actually wanted to hear. But she supposed the matter would die there, for Lord Connington seemed impatient, and Rhaegar payed no mind to it, for he surely already thought about it before the trial.

“My Lord Hand, as you already know, I have many little birds across the Kingdoms. And they sang to me, those in the Westerlands” 

Lyanna drifted her eyes to Tywin Lannister, the man’s face was stern, not giving one thing away, only listening carefully to the spider’s words. Was he nervous? _He should be._ Was he truly behind it all? The thought of it sent her blood boiling through her veins. The man certainly looked cold and calculating, it would not surprise her.

“They sang to me about scheming lions. About how Lord Tywin’s old ambition was never quelled, and how he planned to put the pieces together in his favor, so we would have a Lannister Queen ruling at your side” 

Rhaegar adopted a different position, and straightened in his throne, his eyes flashing with interest at the new piece of information the spider was bringing him. If Cersei’s face was reddened before, now she looked like could just crawl a hole and get lost there. _Good_. “Could you be more specific?”

“Of course, Your Grace. My apologies for my subtle ways.” The spider grinned “Lord Tywin would send letters to King’s Landing, specifically to the Red Keep, and also received some. In those letters, the details of Queen Lyanna’s assassination were discussed, subtly, of course.” a collective gasp in the room erupted, and the whispers began once again. “Those letters, were burned after being read, for safety, of course”

Lyanna felt her heart racing in her chest. So it was true. The Lannister Lord was behind it all. 

“Lies. Blatant lies.” The Lion finally spoke, his voice cold and strong, emanating security “How convenient for his story, that those letters he speaks about, were supposedly burned and therefore non-existent anymore. There is no evidence, Your Grace”

By that time, the sound of the several voices speaking in hushed tones, all at the same time, was already loud enough for Rhaegar to demand silence. The room quietened once again, but the tension was sharp and unforgiving. 

Lord Varys, however, didn’t seem too affected by the lion’s accusations. “If I may, Your Grace… One of my little birds found one of the letters. Partially burned, but the untouched parts are perfectly readable.” Varys then took a a parchment out of his sleeve. The material, as he said earlier, was partially burned, but it looked like it could still be readable enough. 

It was Ser Barristan Selmy who handed Rhaegar the parchment. 

His indigo eyes were inspecting it carefully, as he expanded the parchment with his long fingers. By the looks of him, he was already reading whatever was written in it. A hint of recognition flashed in his dark eyes, and for a moment, those dark gems of his drifted to Lord Tywin with unseen coldness, only to fall once again upon the parchment.  

“Where was this found, Lord Varys?” 

“In Maester Pycelle’s chamber.” the man stated, not at all impressed, and all eyes and gasps were directed to the old man after. 

Maester Pycelle opened his mouth, looking as if he could simply drop dead at any moment, his hands shaking more than usual, and so did his slim, hunched frame. “If it were not for the little bird that sneaked into the place right after he left, this letter would no longer exist. And I’ve been told by them, that there were more, that unluckily, served to feed the flames” he aired out with faked sadness. 

“This is preposterous!” Pycelle barked from his spot, desperation written all over his wrinkled face “This is not to be heard, Your Grace!” the man protested over and over again.

At such complains, Rhaegar gave the man a sharp look that was enough to keep him quiet, and back into his seat. He was annoyed, extremely so. 

Gods, Lyanna was dying to get on her feet and take that parchment from Rhaegar. What was written inside? Were there details? 

“Thank you, for your contribution, Lord Varys” Rhaegar was still holding the parchment “Is there anything else you would like to add?”

“No, Your Grace. That would be all”

“You are dismissed. Maester Pycelle, I believe you are next” 

The master of whispers descended the stand, while Maester Pycelle walked towards it, eyeing at the eunuch with palpable hatred in those small eyes. That old imbecile. She never liked him. Now she understood why. 

“Y-Your Grace, surely you will not believe that cunning spider’s absurd tales, I-“

“Maester Pycelle. I’m sure I needn’t remind you, that lying to your King is punishable by death in such circumstances”  Not that his actions in helping Tywin Lannister were not. Treason it was. “So be a smart man, and don’t try to fool us. Don’t play with my patience” 

The old man’s hands were even shakier, and Rhaegar had no sympathy for him, that much was clear. 

“Do you recognize this letter?” Rhaegar asked, holding the parchment between his long fingers. Only then, Lyanna realized that the seal was still there, shining in bright Lannister red. It might not be complete, it could be broken, melted, but it was still there, in that obvious color. 

Pycelle shared a look with Tywin Lannister, the lion seemed to want to jump out of his own skin if only to rip Pycelle’s tongue out of his mouth. 

“I-I don’t know, Your Grace” Tywin Lannister surely wanted more than to just rip his tongue out after that. That old fool. 

“The letter is partially burned. But there are still readable segments.” Rhaegar inspected carefully, and passed it to Jon Connington. The red headed man landed his sight in it, eyes narrowing slightly at it’s content. 

“The…” Jon Connington narrowed his eyes even more, fighting to read, or at least try. “It’s not quite clear, but the part that says ‘plans for Lyanna Stark’ is quite clean.” The man seemed to be musing to the air, as if he were alone in his solar, mumbling only for himself. 

But his voice grew stronger. “There is also a mention of Gregor Clegane in the last sentence, the only one that is untouched by fire. It says that you, Maester Pycelle, had to show the man the way to the then Princess Lyanna. And, as you can see, the seal, even if it’s damaged, can be easily recognized. A Lannister seal.” 

Lyanna froze in her seat. Could it be that that whole matter had been plotted? Could someone truly be so cruel as to send a beast after a woman and a baby? 

Tywin Lannister wouldn’t even give her a look, making as if she was inexistent to him. That scheming lion. No wonder where the nasty nature of his daughter came from. 

That man in chains, with his proud, stern face and calculating eyes, that man was responsible for Sarella’s death. She hated him, she hated him like she never knew she could hate. 

“My Lord Hand, someone set me up, a trap, that is-“ Pycelle’s pleas to try and save his own head were more than pathetic. Did he truly believe that such poorly conceived arguments would convince anyone?

“Maester Pycelle. My patience is running thin by the second. Either you give us a coherent, detailed explanation, or I will have your head adorning the walls of my keep, but not before you are properly punished for a few days” 

She didn’t need to be a genius to understand the meaning behind such words. A chill ran down her spine. She heard about the punishments traitors were given. What a horrible thing, to die after being tortured. 

Pycelle’s eyes almost popped out of his skull, and in the most utter desperation, the man agitated his shaky hands in the air. “Your Grace, Your Grace! I had nothing to do with this, I was threatened, I was forced to!”

From her place, Lyanna could see Lady Cersei’s eyes pop open. Ser Jaime held the same expression, his lips pressed tightly together, but his earlier blank expression, was replaced by shock.

“Who did, Maester Pycelle?” 

“Lord Tywin, Your Grace” Tywin Lannister was piercing Pycelle’s skull mentally, or at least, that she thought. 

The people sitting on the dais started to whisper, astonished, startled at the revelation. “This man is clearly trying to incriminate me” Tywin Lannister spoke, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of desperation shining through the lion’s confidence. Was his little scheme crumbling down on him? 

“Silence. You will only speak when called upon” Rhaegar’s eyes met Tywin Lannister’s with such ferocity, Lyanna thought he would order his execution right there and then. “You were instructed to guide Gregor Clegane through Maegor’s Holdfast? And what else? This letter, or what is left of it, implies you were either going to give information about my lady wife, or given instructions”

“I was, I was, Your Grace. I was asked to inform them on the whereabouts of Queen Lyanna. But I never did, I knew she was not on Maegor’s Holdfast, or at least so I thought, so I showed that despicable man the way. I was as surprised as everyone when I heard that he found her there”

“You did not know that the King’s wife was not supposed to be in Maegor’s Holdfast. Nobody did. It was a secret. You were leading that man straight into the King’s wife’s chambers, Maester Pycelle. _Treason_ ” Jon Connington stated, cold and to the point, annoyed by the poor excuse.

“Your Grace, you must believe me”

“And why did not inform me of this plot? Since you are alleging to be a _victim_ of Tywin Lannister” Rhaegar almost rolled his eyes, some kind of sour mockery tainting his words. 

Gods, Lyanna didn’t know if she wanted to cry, to faint, or to just kill every Lannister in the room. And Maester Pycelle. 

“I was afraid, Your Grace. An old man like me, so vulnerable to attacks-”

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Arrest him. For treason” Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. He was enraged, Lyanna could see. She knew his temper, and she knew it had been tested for too long now. 

As the guards dragged the desperate old man, who kept insisting on his innocence with ridiculous excuses, Rhaegar got on his feet, his expression calm, yet, such coldness gave Lyanna chills. It was like seeing a completely different person. 

“Do you have anything to say in your defense, Lord Tywin?” such a question was only born out of protocol, it was evident in the King’s short tempered tone and mannerism, as well as his skepticism. 

However, Tywin Lannister, if evidently filled with contempt, did not pronounce a single word. What was there to say anyway? The lion was probably already busy scheming his escape. He was not a stupid man, or at least, so she heard. 

“I see” Rhaegar took a few steps forward, but yet, did not descend a single step. “Tywin Lannister, for conspiring against the crown, and assassination attempt towards the Queen, and my unborn child and heir” the room erupted with whispers, after the revelation. Lyanna heart was beating fast, too fast. “You are hereby sentenced to death” 

Not even the screams and protests of his own daughter could break the contempt with which the Lannister lord stared at the King. It scared her, if only for a second.

He would die. Tywin Lannister would pay his debt. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So first of all, I'd like to apologize for the delay. Believe me, I've been busy, and besides, writing these last chapters are quite tricky. Second: I did not re-read this, because, honestly... I have no patience lol so if you find any mistake or whatever, you can let me know :) 
> 
> Also, I've not much knowledge about trials in Westeros, and I can't remember the details very well... So this was improvised. 
> 
> Thank you so much those of you who are still reading... I hope you enjoyed this :D
> 
> One more thing: we're approaching the end. There only two or three chapters left :)


	52. To See Light

The black cells were everything they said they were, and worse. Like one of the seven hells, or at least the entrance to it.

The darkness, the putrid smell of feces, the humidity. For the first time, he could truly feel sorry for his father. How could a son stand to see his father locked in such a filthy, Gods’ forsaken place? Even when, in the back of his mind, he knew what his father was, what he was capable of, and the reason why he was being held there, the feeling he never thought he would use with his father appeared: pity. How could anyone ever end up pitying Tywin Lannister?

However, the sentence had been dictated, and there was no longer much to do, to say. His father would suffer the same fate as Pycelle. And there he was.

In front of him, behind the bars, his father’s green eyes shone with despise in the middle of the darkness for only a moment when they landed on his golden armor, a sign of his faithful service to the King. The golden reminder of one of Aerys’ insults, was that what his father thought? He surely would not care wether it was his desire too to belong to the Kingsguards, those who didn’t have to own lands, to rule, to have a wife, he would still want him as his heir. Jaime wouldn’t have been the best of Lords, he knew it, her aunt knew it too and tried to tell his father once. It didn’t end well.  

“You are here” from his spot in the ground, his voice sounded hollow, void of any emotion. Even in his last moments, he wouldn't lose his pride, his calm. “Your sister came earlier” 

Ah, Cersei. He could only imagine the horror in his sister’s beautiful eyes the moment in which she set a foot in that place. Her nose usually wrinkled for the most ridiculous reasons, like the smell of a sweaty horse in a hot day, or a simple look to an ‘ugly’ person. To his sister, being down there, had probably been the ugliest, most demeaning experience of her life. But Jaime shook the thoughts out of his head. “Father”

“You saved the Queen, they say. The Queen, and the Princess. I imagine you’re proud, for saving two innocent lives.” he had known his father for far too long to recognize that faint, but unmistakable mockery in the tone of his voice. Pure irony. “But you are ashamed too, aren’t you? For what will they say about a sworn knight that kills his King. Kingslayer, they will call you”

Why, why was he talking about such a thing in that moment? He was going somewhere. He surely was. His father always had something else in mind. 

His silence as a reply was enough for his father to understand, he was sure. 

“A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep” his father stepped up from the floor, approaching the bars. Ah, that old saying. 

“The only thing I regret, is not teaching my children better. You are blessed with abilities that few men possess. You are blessed to belong to the most powerful family in the Kingdoms. And what have you done with these blessings? You served and are still serving as a glorified bodyguard for two Kings. One, a madman. The other, the man who’s threatening the Lannister legacy. And yet, there you are, proud in your golden armor, serving him.” a few hours more to live. He only had a few hours more to live, but even then, he was more concerned with the family name, with his legacy. A legacy he loved more than his children. “The future of our family will be in somebody else’s hands after I’m gone.” His uncle Kevan, if they were lucky enough and the King was feeling kind towards their family after the betrayal. The King could as well erase the Lannister name if he so wished. “We could establish a dynasty that will last for a thousand years. Or we could collapse into nothing” his father took a few more steps ahead, until his face was almost touching the bars. His green, calculating eyes, were looking straight into his own, causing confusion to trigger inside him. 

One of his father’s hands landed on his cheek, the calloused fingers stroking, if only for a second, and with more determination than actual affection. “I need you to become the man you were meant to be. You are my son. _You_ are my heir. The future of Casterly Rock” 

He understood, perfectly so. 

 _Avenge me. Make them fear the Lannister name._ It was crystal clear. Resign to his vows, become the man he never wanted to be, rule. Start a war. His father’s ambitions wouldn’t die with him, or at least, that he thought. Was it worth it? 

One thing he remembered clearly, was what his father, that man in front of him, told his sister once. _‘You’re not as smart as you think you are. That’s why I don’t trust you with these things’._ Jaime was smart. He was smart. He was clever. But he was no Tywin Lannister. And yet, he dared to ‘trust’ him with his beloved legacy. Was he truly that blind in his own arrogance?

“No” was it cruel? To deny a dying man’s wish? To be honest with his father? If he lied, he would be able to tell. He was no fool. 

“No?”

“I don’t want Casterly Rock. I don’t want a wife. I don’t want to rule” with every word he spoke, his father’s eyes seemed to despise him, more and more. A look he’d seen before, but directed to his little brother, never to him. Was that how it felt to be a disappointment? 

“What do you want, then, Jaime?”

“Tranquility” a soft wish. A soft word. 

The hatred in his father’s eyes was a strange thing to experience. “For years I tried to teach you. If serving as a glorified bodyguard is your one ambition, then go and serve the man who will put a leash on the lion and treat it as a domestic cat. My children…” his father turned his back on him, and walked straight to were he was before. His silhouette got darker as it lost itself in the depth of the cell. “You will disgrace the Lannister name”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under the crushing sun that enkindled King’s Landing, Lord Tywin Lannister stood straight and proud as a spear in front of the Sept of Baelor, his green eyes looking at those beneath the dais with contempt, as if they were nothing more than filth, even when he himself could be found in worse conditions than those beneath him, shouting insults left and right at the proud lion. 

Not even with a foot already in the world of the dead, the man’s pride would be subjugated. 

Lyanna wondered if Ser Jaime was there too. But when she looked for him with her sight, she found no trace of the young lion, and, strangely, a small part of her felt relieved. How could one just stand and stay still when their father was about to be beheaded? No matter how horrible that father was, how monstrous. 

But Lady Cersei, she was there, with trembling lips and swollen eyes, and the rest of the Lannister party near her, Kevan Lannister standing in the front with a frown upon his face. It was where they were supposed to be, she understood then, to watch the traitorous lion go down, a silent threat, perhaps, of what would happen to any of them if they ever decided to follow the steps of the great Lord Tywin Lannister. 

Lyanna had heard speculations, about how House Lannister would disappear. But those were only rumors. She doubted Rhaegar would make such a decision, for all of his anger, he was also a just man, and was not likely to throw the blame on others but the one who planned it all. 

All of her thoughts turned into ash in the wind when she saw Rhaegar holding his word. He was dressed in black, a merciless color that matched his emotionless face. Would he do it? He would be the one to behead the man? She gulped, and despite the crushing heat, goosebumps spread across her skin. She never thought she would see _him_ thus. 

She herself had stabbed a man to his death. No matter how powerful, how rich, how strong, they were all the same… A sack of flesh and bones, tender and easily hurt by the steel. 

“Lord Tywin Lannister, found guilty, in the sight of the Gods and men, of committing high treason by plotting the murder of the Queen and also the King’s unborn child, is here in front of you. The Gods are just, and they inflict punishment on those who deserve it.” for a moment, the unceasing shouts of the crowd were actually quieted, for the High Septon to speak, foreshadowing what was to come. The man, dressed in silk robes and short of stature, directed himself to Rhaegar next. “Your Grace… Shall the royal executioner proceed?”

A collective gasp could be heard, and then, the insults to the lion followed. 

Once more, her eyes found Lady Cersei, thick tears were rolling down her cheeks. But another silhouette behind her called her attention. Ser Jaime was there. His hands on his sister’s arms, preventing her from doing something stupid.

“I will do it” Rhaegar’s regal voice resounded. His features were rearranged in a cold mask when he announced that he himself would be the one to behead Tywin Lannister, and as he approached, Lyanna’s tension increased. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy for him, she could see. 

It all happened so fast. Truly. 

Two guards put the Lannister Lord on his knees, with his head down, waiting for the final strike. As Rhaegar’s sword was lifted, she heard Cersei Lannister’s horrified cry breaking through the sound of the crowd, and she could see the exact moment in which Ser Jaime pulled her back in her place. 

Soon after, the dry sound of Tywin Lannister’s head rolling lifelessly on the wooden dais made her feel sick.  

The sound of the cheering of the crowd, the sound of Cersei Lannister’s cries, it was all in the back of her head. He was a traitor, a cold hearted murder. But the sight of death would still impress her. 

She met Rhaegar’s eyes then. They were cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sight of Tywin’s head on a spike, for the crows or any other corpse-eating creature to feast on it, gave him some kind of dark satisfaction. He was not sorry. And why would he, when he almost lost his wife and child in the worst of manners to that man’s ambitions. 

However, he pushed the image away, and decided to focus his attention on another lion. One that, unlike his father, had actually helped him to preserve his family. 

Ser Jaime was merely a boy. And that boy, was sitting right in front of him, with wide, green eyes staring at nothing. He lost his father just days ago. And there he was, sitting in front of the man who took his father’s life. Wasn’t it ironic? They both killed each other’s father. 

Did the boy hate him? Did he understand that he just did what had to be done? It was hard to say, a boy in age he might’ve been, but when it came to his behavior, he was far more mature than any other that shared his age. 

As for him… He could not place the feelings he had towards the young lion. Aerys was mad. Aerys was cruel. Aerys was going to kill every soul in that city with his green flesh eating flames. But he was still his father, and not all memories of him were bad. 

Did the boy feel the same way?

“Ser Jaime” he started, the lion tensed, visibly so “I assume you do not know the reason why you are being summoned here” 

Jaime Lannister’s expression was just as blank as before. “I don’t, Your Grace” 

“I am grateful for what you’ve done for my mother and sister. You saved their lives, and the lives of many others. So, I have decided to give you a choice…”

A choice, yes. He thought about it, a lot. Would it be a good idea to have the son of the man who’s life he took in his service, to protect his family? 

Jaime’s green eyes widened with awoken interest. 

“I know my father made you a Kingsguard, not for a noble reason. And I do not know if it was ever your wish to become one. So now, I’m giving you a choice. You can be released from your vows, if you wish so, Ser Jaime.”

The disjointed expression upon his face turned into one of awe and confusion. The boy became an open book for him to read, but the pages seemed to be all messed up. 

Several seconds passed, until the boy finally decided to break the silence. “I want to stay, Your Grace.” against all odds, the Lannister boy said, adding one last, wary comment “If you want me to, of course”  So he was aware of his concern. 

Rhaegar didn’t expect that. Why did he want that life? Did he know what he was missing? 

“Are you sure, Ser Jaime? I can give you a few days to think. I can understand if you are… Confused.” 

Jaime denied with his head, strong conviction illuminating his features. For a moment, he swore he saw the same expression he held on the day he was named. 

“I always wanted to be a knight, Your Grace” Of course. Rhaegar had been present back then, when his father named him, saw the excitement in the boy’s eyes, shining through. He could see how proud he was, everyday.  “There is nothing else for me out there. I told my father the same thing” 

It was a strange thing, indeed. A mere boy, with a powerful name -a traitor’s son, but still a powerful name-, a fortune waiting for him, saying there was ‘nothing’ out there for him. Jaime Lannister didn’t want any of those things his family name came with. 

How could the son be so different from the father? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a strange scene, to see Brandon and Ashara’s sleeping babe in Lady Catelyn’s arms. 

But just because it was a rare thing to see, it did not mean it was not a good thing. Would anyone believe how peaceful it was? Even if Catelyn’s rejection towards Brandon was still present, as a result of a wounded pride perhaps, the relationship between her and Ashara seemed to be just fine. 

“Are you going to return to Winterfell?” Lyanna heard her father ask, the question directed straight at Brandon, but his eyes were still resting on the sleeping babe. 

“No” Brandon’s reply came as a surprise, not only to her, but to everyone in that room. Her father frowned, his displeased expression betraying him. 

“No?” 

Brandon was no longer the future Lord of Winterfell, that was known. 

But it seemed like her father still wanted his oldest son to return. Or, at least, she could assume that much from the look on his face. 

“No, father. Ashara and I decided to move to Starfall” 

“What?” Lyanna heard herself ask, in a high pitched tone that made the babe resting in Catelyn’s arms move in her dreams. 

And Ashara didn’t told her. Not even a word. 

“We believe it would be better for us to move to Starfall. To start again.”

It made sense, after all. It was too painful for Ashara to remain there, to see the ghost of what could’ve been every single day. Her wounds needed to heal, and for that to happen, she needed to leave that place behind, until it didn’t hurt anymore. 

Ashara looked at Lyanna, and Lyanna gave her a smile. It would not be the same without her. She had been a sister to her. But it was for the best. 

“I respect your choice, son. And you, and Lady Ashara, should know that you have a second home in Winterfell, if you ever change your mind” 

Her father got closer to Lady Catelyn and Elaena, his grey eyes resting on his grandchild. “It seems like this one, will be a summer wolf”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the past days, the heat had been overwhelming. Or perhaps, it was just the discomfort of her pregnancy, that had her sighing every few minutes. That morning in particular, she felt particularly uncomfortable. 

Another sigh filled her mouth, and Rhaella gave her a knowing look. 

“It is perfectly normal to be uncomfortable in the last weeks of a pregnancy, my sweet” she smiled as her eyes went to her round middle. 

Lyanna only hoped her babe, unlike her, was comfortable. And apparently, he -or she- was, for the maester said the babe could be born at ‘any time’ a few weeks ago, and yet, nothing happened. She was still round with child, feeling it kick from while to while.

The first time it kicked, she was lying in bed, eating grapes with Rhaegar’s head resting on her legs. It was a wonderful, exciting thing, to see it move for the first time. The next day, she woke up to find herself surrounded by a thousand winter roses, her favorite flowers, Rhaegar knew. It was his way of thanking her, he told her later. 

And once again, her babe was kicking. Despite her discomfort, Lyanna allowed herself to smile widely at the faint movement she detected. “You seem to be quite comfortable in there, aren’t you?” she spoke to her belly, caressing it lightly. 

From afar, she could see Viserys running in the gardens, and a desperate septa chasing after him. It always made her wonder, what would their child look like, whenever she looked at Viserys or Daenerys. She wondered if the babe would inherit his father’s eyes. Or maybe hers. If it would have the Stark looks, or perhaps the Targaryen looks. Or maybe both. It didn’t matter to her, not really, but it was amusing enough to toy with the idea in her spare time, to imagine that little person inside her.  

“That’s because you’ve a made very cozy nest inside, my dear” Rhaella kept moving the needle as she spoke. 

Well, she was happy that the baby was happy. But for the Old and the New Gods, she felt so tired, so, so tired. 

“I think I need to lay down.” Lyanna let a sigh out, as she lifted her own heavy weight with difficulty from her chair. For some reason, she had started to feel slightly uneasy, anxious even. 

“Are you fine, dear?” Rhaella put her needlework down, and looked up at her. 

“Absolutely. Just a little… Fidgety” 

“You poor thing. Go, rest.”

Rest. She would try. But she couldn’t even sleep properly lately. 

And as she walked trough the hallways, with Ser Barristan following her closely, she felt a sharp pain cutting through, a sudden pain that left her breathless.

She let a groan out, as she held her belly with both hands, something wet was running down her thigh. 

It was time. It was time, and she was scared. Damn her and her previous complains. 

Her heart was racing in her chest as another wave of pain blew her away. Before she knew it, Ser Barristan was already holding her, concerned eyes looking at her in panic. “Your Grace”

“Call the maester…” the words abandoned her lips with difficulty, her breathing was ragged. It would hurt. It would hurt so much. “It’s coming” 

And from that point on, everything was a blur. A confusing, painful blur that passed too fast. 

The knight took her in his arms and hurried to her chambers, ordering the guards to bring a maester as soon as possible while carrying her.  

Before she knew it, she was sprawled in the bed, with a septa by her side, preparing cloth and water, while there was another one rushing in and out of the room. The maester was already there, positioned in front of her. It was happening. It was truly happening.

“Your Grace” the man called her, but she could barely concentrate on the sound of his voice, for the pain was getting worse and worse and she _really_ wanted it to stop. “Your Grace. Your babe is coming. I need you to push now”

Lyanna, against her fear, against her pain, pushed, and it felt like being cut in half, her eyes were tightly shut, but still, a few tiny tears escaped, along with a harsh breath. 

The septa by her side instructed her to put the cloth between her teeth, otherwise, she could break them, she said. Gods, Lyanna wanted to scream, and the last thing in her mind was the fact that she could break a tooth or two. 

“Your Grace, I need you to push harder” the maester insisted, and she did as she was told, biting into the cloth and grabbing the septa’s hand so tightly she was sure it was painful for the woman too. 

Gods. It was happening. It was happening, and she was alone. Did Rhaegar know already? Where was he? Small rivers of sweat were flowing down her face, cold sweat. Once more, she pushed, feeling as if her own flesh was being ripped apart from inside. But still, she pushed again, and again, and again.

At some point, she heard gasps among her own painful screams, but she could not focus on whatever was happening around her. Only in the darkness she submerged herself into with her eyes tightly shut, and the pain striking over and over with every movement. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and his voice ringing clear and strong in her ear, a soothing sound it was. But sadly, no matter how soothing his voice could be, the physical pain spoke louder. “Lyanna, love. I’m here” 

She opened her eyes, and found him there, kneeling next to the bed, wiping her forehead with his hand. Concern and panic was the only thing she saw in his face, and she guessed that was why men were not supposed to be in the room when a woman was giving birth. Still, he remained there, holding her hand. If he was nervous, she didn’t notice. His presence there was enough for her to feel less afraid. 

“Just a little more, Your Grace” the maester urged her. 

Once more, she bit into the cloth the septa put in her mouth, thinking that she would probably break her teeth anyway, in the middle of the sounds of pain she was producing and the the way in which she was holding Rhaegar’s hand. 

But with the last push, came relief. And after that, a sharp, loud cry. Her babe’s cry. 

Gods, she was tired. She was so tired. The sharp pain was gone, but she was still sore. 

“Congratulations, Your Grace. You gave birth to a healthy boy” she could feel more than see the smile on the man’s voice. 

Lyanna, tired as she was, lifted her head up to see her son, Rhaegar helped her, putting a hand under her neck. 

The baby was already wrapped in fabric, babes were cold when they were born, she was told. 

The septa deposited the baby in her arms, he was still crying, that little, beautiful thing she was holding against her breast. It was her son. Their son. And he was beautiful, and so small, so perfect. 

She felt the tears soaking her face, as a warm feeling spread across her chest and filled her with something so unfamiliar, something she had never felt before. She loved him, even before he opened his little eyes, with only one movement of his little fingers, she loved him, more than anything. How could it be?

Rhaegar deposited a kiss on her forehead, and pushed the locks of hair out of her face. 

He was just as happy, just as proud as her, adoration shining in his eyes. “He’s perfect” she smiled when she ran a finger down the baby’s nose. He was perfect, their son. 

“He is. Just like you” her husband mused, just as enthralled as she was with their son. 

‘Just like you’, he said, but with a simple glance, one could easily tell the baby was more him than her. She supposed she could quit imagining what their child would look like. He was there already, and he was the vivid image of his father. 

She held the baby against her breast. Couldn’t she stay that way forever? Because nothing else mattered. She turned, and kissed her husband on the lips. She was thanking him. Thanking him for the happiest moment of her life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the huge delay. I was extremely busy with my finals! Won't happen again.


End file.
